The Prodigal Son
by NightingaleTear
Summary: Peter and El are finally having the baby they always wanted, but they are also grieving the loss of their friend. What happens when a new case puts their family in danger? Can they figure out what really happened with Neal and bring him home? Set after 6x06 Au Revoir.
1. Picking up the Pieces

**A/N:** **This is my take on what could have happened after the events of 6x06 Au Revoir. It's based on my personal interpretation of the show's ending. The story will pick up right after Neal's death and fill in the missing year (bear with me, please) before moving on to the show's final scene and beyond. **

**I will change the 'one year later' scene a little so that it fits better with the story I have in mind, but other than that I will stick to what happened on the show. I might also reference a few things from my other White Collar Story (The First Day of the Rest of our Lives), which deals with how Peter and El first met, but it's no problem if you haven't read that one.**

* * *

"Honey?"

Peter straightened his tie, using his reflection in the refrigerator door. He hated everything about the way he looked in this dark suit and black tie.

"Honey, we need to go! Actually, we needed to go five minutes ago," he called again.

Waiting for his wife to get ready was nothing unusual. He had long since learned not to question her beauty routine. And today of all days, Peter didn't want to rush her. He understood her reluctance. He understood it only too well. But not leaving the house wouldn't change anything about what they needed to do today.

Peter was beginning to get impatient. He just wanted to get this over with. As awful as that sounded.

"El?"

There was still no answer, and now Peter started to worry. He left the kitchen and headed upstairs. He only stopped to pet Satchmo, who was lying at the foot of the stairs. His head rested on his paws, and he gave a soft whine and wagged his tail listlessly.

Great, even his dog was depressed. Peter ran a hand over his face. What a day.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs. The bedroom was empty, but the door to the bathroom was ajar. Peter pushed it all the way open and finally laid eyes on his wife.

El was wearing a simple black dress, and she had her hair up in a bun. She looked like she was ready to go. Except she was perched on the edge of the bathtub, her shoulders slumped, her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.

And Peter's heart broke all over again.

"Oh, honey…" He took two quick steps towards Elizabeth, so he could sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm… sorry," she wheezed between sobs. "I'm making us late."

"Well, Neal never showed up on time either. I don't think he would mind," Peter said softly.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say because El's crying got worse, not better, and she buried her face in his chest.

Peter sighed and held her closer, using both arms now. "Maybe you should stay here, hon. All this stress isn't good for you."

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, as if it wasn't enough of a burden to carry, there was also the constant worry about the baby. They weren't the same young people anymore who had decided that they wanted to have a child. That had been years ago. It was why they had given up hope of ever getting pregnant. But now, here they were.

It was their own little miracle.

And they could just as easily lose it again. There was always some risk involved in a geriatric pregnancy – even under the best of circumstances. Enough for Peter to wish he could wrap El in bubble wrap or put her behind bulletproof glass. Or, in lieu of such drastic measures, at least make sure that she was happy and worry-free.

His wife's tears staining his shirt were proof that he had failed. Yet another reason why he hated this.

He had failed Elizabeth, he had failed their unborn son, and, above all, he had failed Neal.

And if he had hoped to convince El to stay behind, he had failed at that, too. Because his words had the opposite effect.

She suddenly stood and wiped her eyes. "I'm coming. I'm pregnant, not sick."

"Honey…" Peter said and then faltered because he had no idea what else to do or say.

El looked him squarely in the eye. "I have to do this. I have to… say goodbye." She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop fresh tears from falling.

She looked so incredibly fragile, standing there, fighting tears – way too fragile for Peter's liking. She was the single most important person in his life, carrying the second most important tiny human being inside of her, and she was right. She usually was. The only way for them both to move forward and be strong enough to have a healthy baby was to actually move forward.

To leave this bathroom and go to this goddamn funeral.

Peter stood and took El's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Without another word they left the house together.

It was raining cats and dogs. Really, as if this day could get any worse. Peter wasn't about to tempt fate, though, and drove carefully. Better late than dead in a traffic accident. They were dealing with too much tragedy already.

At the cemetery, they huddled under one big umbrella and joined the others. It was only a small service, and the rain had kept anyone away who wasn't actually close to Neal. Or who _hadn't_ been close.

Past tense. He needed to get used to that.

There was Jones, and he was holding an umbrella for Diana and little Theo, who was mercifully asleep. Peter envied the little guy for being so blissfully unaware of the grief surrounding him. June stood right next to him, dabbing her eye with a handkerchief. Mozzie was off to the side, standing by himself and without an umbrella. He looked wet and miserable. That seemed about right. And just before the minister started speaking, Sara joined them with a sad, apologetic little smile. She had come all the way from London. It was touching. For whatever that was worth now.

The minister kept it brief, and when he was done, he gave Peter a solemn nod. He was supposed to join him and deliver a eulogy, but he was holding both the umbrella and El. She was shaking like a leaf, be that from the cold, exhaustion, or grief. It didn't really matter. He couldn't leave her side.

Finally, Mozzie moved and walked over to them. "I've got this, Suit," he said quietly and took the umbrella from Peter as well as El. He was dripping wet and couldn't offer a lot of warmth, but El didn't seem to mind. She gladly held on to the strange little man who had become a dear friend.

Now, Peter was the one feeling cold. And alone. He didn't want to take those couple of steps forward. He didn't want to be the one to bury his partner. His friend.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. Neal had earned his freedom. He had brought down the Pink Panthers. He had helped to stop Keller. Peter wasn't sure what had gone down between Neal and Keller exactly, but whatever it was, Neal had earned Peter's trust, enough for him to give him the benefit of the doubt. And either way, Neal hadn't deserved this – a cold grave and his name on a tombstone.

When Peter walked up to the minister, who offered him a second umbrella, he noticed something that was lying on Neal's tombstone. A little origami flower. Alex. She must have been here earlier. The thought made Peter smile just a little bit.

Not for long, though. He heaved a sigh when he looked from the sad faces of his colleagues, friends, and family to Neal's closed casket. He didn't even like giving speeches.

_Damn you, Neal._

"Neal Caffrey is…" Peter winced, "was…" he corrected himself softly, "… actually, I have no idea who Neal was. Every time I thought I did, he changed. I thought he was just another bond forger, a talented one, yes, but nothing special, nothing the FBI hadn't seen and handled before. But then he made me chase him halfway around the world and turned my life upside down. He was smart, brilliant, unapologetic, and brazen as hell. In other words, he was a giant pain in the ass."

Jones and Diana chuckled. As the ones who had worked with Neal, too, they knew this to be true.

"I didn't want to work with him at first because I knew he would be impossible to handle. And he was. He never stayed in the car when I told him to stay in the car, he never shut up when I told him to shut up, and every time I turned my back on him, he ran, slipped his anklet, or did who knows what. And somehow, that made him the best damn CI I have ever worked with."

_Or will ever work with again,_ Peter thought. There would never be another Neal, and he had promised El. No more handling, no more field work. He was done. They both were, only in Neal's case, it was a lot more final.

"I figured I could tolerate Neal's shenanigans as long as I could keep him contained. But the first week we worked together, I found him sitting on my couch, talking to my wife, and petting my dog. Next thing I knew, he was invited for dinner. That was Neal. He was a charmer. There was no containing him. But he was not a liar. He never lied about who he was, and he never made empty promises. He made mistakes and plenty of them, but he also made up for them. He always came through for me, for the team, and for our family when it really mattered."

And now, Neal had come through for them one last time. Their lives had been a lot more dangerous with Neal in them – a handful of kidnappings and near-death experiences came to mind, and, most recently, going undercover with the Pink Panthers – but they were all still here. They were safe, and their family could grow. Neal was the only one who wasn't.

"Neal was a good man. One of the best I have ever known. Catching him, working with him, and learning to be his friend was the biggest challenge of my life – and my greatest honor." Peter rested a hand on his tombstone. "Goodbye, my friend. Whoever you were in the end and whatever you did, you will never be forgotten."

Peter stepped back from the grave. Everyone else was in tears again. They lowered the casket into the ground, and then it was done.

Just like that. The end of a truly remarkable life. And they were the lucky or the cursed ones left behind to pick up the pieces.

Slowly, one by one, they turned away. They were all going to June's, per her request. She said that the house was so terribly empty now that he was gone. Mozzie was still taking care of El, or rather, they were taking care of each other, so Peter was free to stay behind a little longer.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something or someone move, and it diverted his attention away from the fresh grave. When Peter turned around and caught a glimpse of the person responsible, he froze.

It was James Bennett.

Peter was frozen for a couple more seconds, then his blood began to boil. He was here as a friend to grieve, not as an FBI agent to make an arrest, but damn it all to hell, he pulled his gun.

Bennett tried to run but Peter was faster. "FBI! Freeze! Or I swear to God…" he warned him.

Slowly, Bennett turned around to face him fully. "Please, Peter, I'm just here as a father who lost his son," he pleaded with him.

Peter might have believed his pain if he hadn't been absolutely furious – or if James had chosen to do the right thing just once in his life. "You were not his father," Peter spat. "Not the one he deserved, anyway."

"Oh, and I suppose you were?" Bennett asked coolly. "Then why is Neal dead now? He chose you over me and what did it get him? His name on a headstone! He could have lived if you hadn't made him believe he needed to be better. So you can try to make me the villain all you want, Peter, but this is not on me. It's on you."

Peter clenched his teeth. He was not going to listen to a word that came out of that man's mouth. But that didn't stop him from hitting a nerve. There was only one thing Peter had to say to him in response.

"James Bennett, you are under arrest for the murder of Senator Terrance Pratt."

"Oh, you mean the same crime you were arrested for and then not indicted because of a confession I made? Except I never made that confession because Neal forged it and you were cleared on false evidence, which, conveniently, you never mentioned to anyone."

"Because the truth is that you did kill Pratt," Peter replied, taking a step forward while Bennett took a step back.

"So you say. But I'm sure it would raise a lot of uncomfortable questions if people found out now how you and Neal worked together outside the law to get you out of prison. And who knows what else you did…"

It was clearly a threat, and Peter was in no mood today. His trigger finger twitched. He so badly wanted to be done with this.

"Peter?"

His heartbeat accelerated rapidly. It was El, come to look for him, and Peter never liked it when she was close to guns, not even his own.

"Don't move!" he threatened Bennett before he dared to glance over his shoulder towards his wife. "El, stay back!"

Her eyes darted from her husband to Bennett and widened in shock when she recognized him. And then, in an unfortunately rather Neal-esque kind of way, she ignored Peter completely and not only came closer but walked right past him and towards Bennett.

"You! I invited you to my house for dinner and you let my husband go to prison for you!" El accused him, and Peter had to lower his gun because she had stepped right into his line of fire.

Bennett was too focused on El to notice. "I'm sorry. It was nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" El repeated angrily. And then she closed her umbrella and started hitting Bennett over the head with it.

Both men were too stunned to react at first, even though Peter really wanted to laugh.

God, he loved that woman.

Then Bennett tried to grab El to defend himself, but with two giant steps Peter was there and punched Bennett in the face before he could lay a finger on his wife.

Bennett stumbled backwards with a bloody lip. He caught his balance, and suddenly he was the one pulling a gun on them. Peter had put his weapon away because he wouldn't shoot it with El standing so close to Bennett. All Peter could do now was to grab El and pull her behind him.

"I don't want to hurt you, not here, not over Neal's open grave," Bennett said, slowly backing away. "But I'm not going back to jail. I'm sure you can understand, Peter. Why don't we agree to live and let live?"

"Because you're a murderer, Bennett. And the FBI doesn't let murderers go free," Peter told him, fighting the urge to go after him because that would leave El exposed.

"Then we'll have to agree to disagree," Bennett said, taking another step back. "Don't follow me, Peter, or I can't guarantee your or your wife's safety."

Peter's nostrils flared when Bennett dared to threaten El, but he had to let him go. For now. As soon as it was clear that Bennett was making a run for it and not coming back, Peter turned around to face El.

"You okay?" he asked quickly, cupping her wet cheek. Without an umbrella, they were both getting soaked.

"Yes. Are you? Could he really prove that the confession was fake and get the case against you reopened?" El worried.

Peter shrugged. "Maybe. But he's still a murderer, and that's way more important. I can't let him go, hon."

"I know, but honey, don't go after him now. Not today. Please." A few strands of El's hair had come undone and now clung to her neck. She was wet and worried and terribly sad, and she needed him.

Peter nodded. "I'll call it in from the car and send a couple of agents after him."

He put an arm around El and they hurried back to the car. When they arrived at June's, the others were already waiting for them.

"You okay, boss? We heard about Bennett. Sorry we had already left, or we would have helped you take him down," Diana said while bouncing Theo on her hip. It was a little disorienting to see her as a mother but to hear her talk about chasing a criminal. Somehow she had managed to find a good balance between the two. Peter probably needed to talk to her again about how that worked exactly.

"We're fine, and I sent a couple of agents after him. He won't get far," Peter told her and Jones.

The three of them exchanged a look. They all wanted to be the ones out there catching Bennett. At the same time, each of them understood that now was not the time.

"Enough shoptalk. Come on in and sit!" June broke up their little gathering and linked arms with El to lead her over to the couch.

There was tons of food laid out on the dinner table, but no one was actually hungry, not even El, who should have been eating for two. None of them really knew what to say either.

"How was your flight?" El eventually began to make polite conversation with Sara.

"Yeah, sorry I was so late. It got delayed and… you know how it is," she said with a helpless shrug.

"Well, it was very nice of you to come, dear," June told her.

"Of course. I mean…" Sara paused, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I still can't believe he's dead. Are we sure he's really gone?" She looked at all of them, beseeching anyone to give her a different, a more bearable answer.

Sara's gaze landed on Mozzie, but he wouldn't say anything. He stood by himself again and looked like he wanted to leave but couldn't bring himself to – or didn't know where to go.

So Peter was the one who had to answer her. "He's gone," he said softly.

Thankfully, Sara didn't ask him to go into the details of how he had seen Neal's dead body with his own eyes. "And it was Keller?" she asked instead, some of her sadness replaced by anger. "How was that bastard not back in prison?"

"He made a deal with Interpol," Jones replied so Peter didn't have to.

"Well, that didn't work out for them, now did it?" Sara snapped.

"Actually, it did. They just wanted to stop the Pink Panthers, and now we have. They even risked the life of their own agent. I doubt they care all that much that Keller is dead now or that he killed Neal first," Jones said and then winced when he realized how harsh his words had been.

But it was the truth. "I should have killed that son of a bitch when I had the chance the first time," Peter muttered. Keller should have stopped breathing the minute he had harmed a hair on El's head. Or, better yet, before he had even thought of kidnapping her. That was also the truth.

"Hon," El said quietly, resting a hand on Peter's arm. Of course, it wasn't that easy. Nothing ever was. But that didn't stop Peter from wishing that he and Neal had never brought in Keller alive back then.

"At least, in a way, Neal's finally free now," Sara said.

"He would have been free either way after bringing down the Pink Panthers. He had an ironclad contact with the FBI," Peter told her bitterly. That's what made it so hard to accept. Neal had been so close.

Sara looked surprised. "Oh, did he say what he was planning to do once the FBI would have set him free?"

Perhaps she was hoping to hear that Neal had planned a trip to London, but Peter couldn't really help her with that. "With Neal, it's impossible to know for sure. But the doors at the FBI would have always been open for him."

"Really? Neal as an FBI agent? Can you imagine that?" Sara asked.

"No, I really can't," Diana was the first one to reply.

"Are FBI agents allowed to wear a fedora?" El wondered and made everyone laugh a little.

June sighed. "I guess I have to figure out what to do with all of his things now. He wore them so well. It was like having a young version of my Byron back in the house." She turned to look at Mozzie. "Do you want to keep anything, Mozzie?"

He gave a quick shake of his head. "You know me. I don't believe in being weighed down by too many earthly possessions."

"Unless it's money or priceless art," Diana pointed out.

"No comment," Mozzie replied swiftly.

"We are an odd bunch, aren't we?" June said thoughtfully. "I never thought I would entertain so many FBI agents in my house."

El smiled sadly. "Neal brought us together. The best of both worlds."

"Sometimes we could have done with a little less interference from his world," Jones said, pointing his thumb at Mozzie.

"Excuse me? As I recall, Neal and I saved your collective behinds on more than one occasion," Mozzie defended himself. "Including little Theo's."

"He wouldn't have needed your help if you hadn't made me climb down a manhole to find you," Diana countered.

Mozzie's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't make you do anything. Everybody knows that pregnant women aren't supposed to lift anything heavy. You hear that, Mrs. Suit? You better learn from her mistakes."

Before El could say anything, Peter leaned forward. "So you finally admit that it was Mozzie who helped you deliver Theo when you went after the Teddy Winters case, and you covered it up."

Diana and Mozzie exchanged a quick glance, both of them realizing that their grief had made them forget not to talk about that not so well kept secret. "Plausible deniability, boss," Diana said, shrugging her shoulders. "I figured you didn't actually want to go after the little guy over there."

He didn't. He hadn't then and he certainly didn't want to do so now.

"I would have to object to that description since for once I am in fact not the smallest guy in the room," Mozzie said, smiling ever so slightly at the toddler in Diana's lap.

"What about after today? Will we be seeing you?" Jones asked.

"At the FBI? Definitely not," Mozzie scoffed.

"How about as a friend?" El asked. "I'll need someone to stop me from lifting anything heavy when Peter's at work," she coaxed him.

Mozzie grimaced. "I hope you are aware of the irony that I am the one being accused of using illegal methods while you're the one resorting to blackmail," he said dramatically. "But also… nicely done, Mrs. Suit."

"So, I heard that right? You're pregnant?" Sara spoke up again.

El reached out to hold on to Peter's hand. "Yes."

"Oh, wow, congratulations! That's amazing!"

"Thank you, Sara."

"No, thank you. It's nice to know that there are still good things in this world that happen to good people. That's going to be one lucky kid," Sara said.

"That's what Neal said when I told him," Peter remembered, the memory catching him off guard. He had been so happy that day. He had felt like everything was finally going right – he and El were having a baby and Neal had his contract with the FBI that would set him on the right path.

El gently squeezed his hand and everyone fell quiet again. No matter what they talked about, nothing could make them forget that there was someone not in this room who should have been.

"Okay, now I think we all know that Neal wouldn't have wanted us to remember him like this," June said and stood. She returned with a probably rather expensive bottle of champagne. "Neal gave me this last Christmas. He said to use it for a special occasion. I think this qualifies." She poured them all a glass, with the exception of El, whom she handed a glass of orange juice. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with this, my dear, but I promise you it'll be worth the wait."

"Thanks, June."

She raised her glass. "Now, to Neal, who made life exciting and adventurous and wonderful for all of us, be that as a colleague, a friend, a partner, or a son."

"To Neal!" They echoed and clinked glasses.

Not long after, Theo started to cry. "I'm sorry. He's getting fussy. I need to get him home," Diana said.

"Of course, I can drive you," Jones offered.

"After you've dropped off Diana, would you mind swinging by the office…?" Peter asked him quietly.

"… to check if we've caught Bennett yet? Was planning on it," Jones replied.

"Thanks, Jones," Peter said, and he meant it. Letting go of some of the day-to-day business at White Collar so he could be there for El and their child would be a lot easier, knowing that Jones and Diana had everything under control.

"What about you? How long are you staying in New York?" El asked Sara after Jones and Diana had left.

Sara shrugged, looking a little lost. "A few days? I had some vacation days left anyway. I'm not really sure yet."

"Well, if you're staying, you should come by the house for dinner," El invited her.

"Yeah?" Sara asked hopefully.

"Of course." El gave Peter a prompting look. Apparently, he was supposed to express his agreement as well.

"We'd love to have you," he said.

"Great, because I love picking baby names."

They hugged, and when Sara left, Mozzie tried to sneak out as well.

"Hey," El caught him. "Promise you won't be a stranger, Moz."

He just waved her off. "Don't worry. I have offered you my services as a doula, and I take that very seriously."

"Wait, what's a doula?" Peter asked, even though he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

"See you around, El… Peter," Mozzie said, and he was out the door.

All that was left was to thank June, and then Peter and Elizabeth went home as well.

Satchmo greeted them enthusiastically, starving for love and attention… and dinner. Peter fed him in the kitchen while El sat at the kitchen island with her eyes closed.

"Honey, go to bed," Peter said when he saw that.

"Are you sure? It's still early. Did you want to make dinner or just sit for a while…?"

Peter walked up to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I want you – both of you – to get some sleep."

"All right." That El didn't even try to put up a fight was proof of how exhausted she really was. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and then headed for the stairs. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" she asked, turning around one more time.

"I'll be fine if you are," he promised her.

El smiled softly and went upstairs.

When she was gone, Peter stood in his living room, not sure what to do with himself. Sleep was not an option for him. He felt like there were too many things he should be doing but none he actually could do. He couldn't work on babyproofing the house without waking up El and he couldn't go back to work because... because he wasn't supposed to do that anymore. And even if he could have, he knew it wouldn't feel the same way. Not today. Maybe not for a long time.

All the more reason to focus on the baby. But the baby was fine. It had absolutely no use for him right now. Actually, no one needed him right now.

Satchmo was done eating and cocked his head at Peter.

Okay, maybe there was someone.

So he took his dog on a long evening walk. Unfortunately, that only gave him more time to think. When they got back to the house, Peter was done thinking. He grabbed the bottle of Bourbon that he rarely ever drank. But today seemed like the right day. He poured himself a glass and sat on the couch with Satchmo settling down at his feet. That helped. For a while.

Then his phone rang and Peter was quick to answer it. "Talk to me, Jones."

"_He got away," _Jones told him. It wasn't what Peter had wanted to hear. _"We have an APB out, and all airports, bus and train stations are on alert, but as of right now, we don't know where Bennett is."_

_Like father, like son,_ Peter thought bitterly. He knew he should have headed up the search for Bennett himself. But he had also needed, wanted to be with his family. Of course, now he felt like he could have done more of a difference at work. None of that was Jones' fault, though. "Okay, thanks, Jones. Go home."

"_We'll get him, Peter. We always do,"_ Jones said.

"Yeah," Peter replied, but he felt empty at the prospect. "See you tomorrow."

He hung up the phone, and after a moment of taking it all in, he brought down his fist on the coffee table with such force that he knocked over the bottle of Bourbon. It rolled off the table and Satchmo gave a scared bark before running off.

Hitting the floor, the bottle broke, and so did Peter.

He dropped his head into his hands and allowed the sobs to break free from his chest. He wasn't proud of it, but he simply couldn't bear the weight anymore. It had been eating away at him all day. He had needed to be the strong one. For the team. For El. Even for Mozzie.

Because Neal was gone.

And now Peter had nothing left to give.

Soft hands wrapped around him and a wonderfully familiar scent engulfed Peter when El pulled him into her arms and he buried his face in the nook between her neck and shoulder. He wanted to pull himself together because he had promised her, promised her so many things, but above all to protect her, not to be this blubbering mess. But she felt so warm and so good and Peter never wanted to move again.

El patiently waited him out. She didn't say anything; she didn't move; she just held on. If she was crying, too, Peter couldn't see. The thought sobered him up a little. Enough to speak.

"I failed him, El," he rasped. It was the first time he had said that out loud to anyone.

Finally, El moved. She placed her hands on his cheeks and lifted his head so she could look at him. Her own cheeks were wet with tears but her voice was surprisingly steady.

"No, you didn't, hon. You got him out of prison and gave him a new chance at life. You risked your career for him multiple times; you even gave up going to Washington for him. You believed in him time and again, and you protected him as best as you could."

"Then why didn't I see coming what was going on with Keller?"

"Because, maybe, Neal was trying to protect you, too. With everything Keller had done to us already, I'm grateful he tried to keep you away," El said.

Peter shook his head. "But I could have saved him."

"Or you could have ended up right next to him," El cautioned.

He knew she was right and that he shouldn't have risked it because he had so much to lose. But so had Neal. And no matter what the risk, Peter couldn't stop wishing he had been there sooner.

"Honey, I wish you could have been there to save him, too, but that doesn't make it your fault. It's not anyone's fault, except Keller's. And if there is something Neal didn't tell you, then it was his choice. Because he knew what you've done for him and he loved you for it. I know he did," El said softly. "We were his family as much as he was a part of ours."

Hearing her say that made Peter's heart leap, only to be dragged down again in despair. "Then how did we lose him?"

That's where El's certainty faltered. "I don't know."

"I'm not sure if I can live with that answer," Peter said honestly.

"You can. And you will. Because Neal would want you to. And because _he_ needs you." El had reached for his hand and placed it on her belly.

Peter spread his fingers, and through the thin fabric of his wife's nightgown he could feel the tiny bump that was starting to form there.

Proof that there was life still. A life that was only just beginning. Entirely dependent on them and brought into the midst of this tragedy through absolutely no fault of its own.

"What if I fail him?" Peter wondered. Because that was the most terrifying thought of them all.

"You couldn't. Because he knows that he is already so loved," El replied, resting her hand on top of Peter's.

And that, he decided, was an answer he could live with. The one thing that wouldn't go away even in grief, the love they shared between the two of them – now the three of them. Well, four, as soon as Satchmo recovered from the shock of Peter's little outburst and dared to join them again.

"I love you," Peter said simply, and Elizabeth smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "And I'm sorry about the mess."

"We should probably clean it up before Satchmo develops a taste for Bourbon in his old age," El replied. The Labrador had begun to sniff around the broken remains of the bottle of Bourbon. He didn't actually try to lick up the alcohol, but there was a real danger of him stepping on a piece of glass.

They stood up to pick up the biggest shards, but El sat right back down, closing her eyes and taking steady, deliberate breaths.

"Honey? Everything okay?" Peter asked worriedly, reaching out for her.

El gave a curt nod and put a hand on his arm to signal him that there was no need for alarm. After a couple more deep breaths, she managed to say, "Just a bout of morning sickness."

Peter's brow furrowed. "It's eleven o'clock at night."

"Tell that to your son," El replied.

Peter noticed that now that the baby was causing her discomfort, she suddenly referred to him as only 'his' son, but he decided not to comment. "What can I do?" he asked, rubbing her back.

"You could make us a sandwich," El suggested, confusing Peter.

"I thought you were feeling sick," he reminded her.

"Sick... and hungry."

Peter shook his head. "That makes no sense."

"Welcome to the wonderful, confusing world of pregnancy, hon," El laughed softly.

The sound was a little piece of normalcy in this whole mess, and it invigorated Peter somewhat. He cleaned up the mess he had made and then went into the kitchen. Making a sandwich wasn't much, but it was something to do, and it felt good.

"Okay, what would you like?" he asked.

"Anything, as long as there's no mayo on it."

Peter made a mental note that mayo had been added to the list of foods that were bad and inspected the fridge.

El had walked over to sit at the kitchen island. "If you're looking for deviled ham, I threw all of it out."

"Why? That's my kid in there. He might like it!" Peter pointed out, slightly affronted.

"Your kid, my taste buds – and my nose. If I even catch a whiff of that stuff... not that it was nice to smell before, but now I could start retching just thinking about it."

Peter narrowed his eyes at his wife. "Are you sure you're not just using the baby as an excuse?"

"Even if I were, you couldn't prove it," El replied cheekily.

"I'm ASAC of the FBI's New York White Collar division. I can prove anything," Peter said, closing the fridge and leaning against it with his arms crossed.

El rolled her eyes. "Come on, honey. Neal will thank me for it..."

They both paused when they realized her mistake.

El's shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears again. "God, I miss him."

"Me too," Peter said, his voice catching. He rounded the kitchen island, pressed a kiss to the top of El's head, and sat down next to her.

"I miss that smile when I opened the door to him standing on our doorstep. I miss all those crazy stunts he talked you into to solve your cases, even the ones I hated at the time, and I miss how he always listened to me when I was worried about you," El reminisced. "And to think that when he first came into our lives, you only called him James Bonds because we didn't even know his name."

Peter took her hand. "Sometimes I wonder if I should have never caught him. At least, he might still be alive."

"You don't know that," El said, shaking her head. "And he wouldn't have been the man he was, the man you helped him become." That thought seemed to make her remember something. "What happened with Neal's father?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

"He got away," Peter told her, heaving a sigh.

El bit her lip. "Does it make me a bad person that I'm actually relieved that you didn't find him?"

Peter met her eyes in surprise, not sure what to say to that.

"I just can't take any more right now. Certainly not worrying about you being indicted or imprisoned again," she explained.

"Well, we'll keep looking for him. But he always knew how to go completely off the grid and we have a pretty bad track record when it comes to catching him, if that makes you feel any better," Peter said slowly.

"It does," Elizabeth admitted. "Even though it shouldn't, because he is a murderer and he let you go to prison. But I just want to let sleeping dogs lie and find a way to focus on the future, not the past. Even if that makes me a coward."

"Honey, it doesn't make you a coward. You have a right to feel whatever it is you're feeling. And your only job at the moment is the one you're doing right now." Peter nodded towards her stomach.

El followed his gaze. "In that case, I seem to remember that I was promised a sandwich."

Peter allowed a small smile to tuck at his lips. Even in this terrible mess, they would find a way forward. Together. They always had.

"Right. One sandwich with no mayo and no deviled ham, coming up."

* * *

**A/N: I know this was a very sad chapter, but I feel it's important to show how Neal's 'death' affected everyone. I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope you're interested in coming along for the ride.**


	2. What to Expect when You're Expecting

**A/N: Thank you for all your positive feedback! It's greatly appreciated. Here we go with chapter two...**

* * *

Peter checked his watch for the umpteenth time. He hated being late. It wasn't just impolite. It was proof of poor planning and missing self-discipline. It was one of the things he was definitely going to teach his son. A Burke was never late.

Unfortunately, his son wasn't able to go anywhere yet without his mother, who was moving a little slower these days. Generally, Peter was all for El taking it easy. At 20 weeks, she was showing quite a bit, the morning sickness had thankfully subsided, and she was feeling good on most days.

Not that she had been complaining – not even on the bad days. Like the first time her clothes wouldn't fit her anymore. Peter had a whole speech prepared (how she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him and how that would never change, in fact, she could only be more beautiful because she was bringing their child into this world), but there had been no need.

El had looked a little chagrined. But the joy that their baby was growing – that this was finally happening for them – was always bigger than any discomfort.

The only thing bigger than the joy was the impatience.

"Honey, your doctor's appointment is at three o'clock sharp. We'll be late," Peter tried to remind his wife softly.

Not softly enough. El leveled him with a glare. "You mean like you were for the last sonogram? So late in fact that you weren't there at all."

"That's hardly fair. That was... before. I am here now," Peter pointed out.

"Doesn't give you the right to rush me," El informed him. She was still gathering her purse and all the medical documents she would need.

"I'm not rushing you. I'm just telling you that traffic is bad at this hour," Peter rephrased his statement.

El snorted. "This is New York City. Traffic's always bad."

"All the more reason to go."

"Why don't you try to go without me and see how well that works out for you?"

Peter sighed and decided to change tactics. He walked over to her and took her hands in his. "I'm sorry, hon. I just really – _really_ – want to see him." After missing the first sonogram, Peter was incredibly anxious to make up for his absences.

El knew that, and her expression softened. "Me too," she said, an excited glimmer in her eyes.

Smiling, Peter leaned in for a kiss.

"But I still need to pee first," El announced.

Peter groaned. "Again?"

"Excuse me? Is this baby pressing down on your bladder or mine?"

Peter raised his hands in defeat. "I didn't say anything."

Still, he felt like the universe had it in for him, and that's why he was trying so hard to outrun it. Because right this very minute the trial against the Pink Panthers was starting at the court house. The prosecution planned to ask for a continuance, so they should be fine, but Peter wasn't willing to take any more chances.

When they finally made it to the doctor's office, they were five minutes late. No one cared, though, because they had to take a seat in the waiting room anyway. Peter tried not to feel out of place, being the only man in the room, and flipped through a magazine for baby equipment.

"Some of these strollers cost more than my car!" he muttered.

"I know. Maybe we can get a used one," El suggested.

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "We're not putting our son in a used stroller. Who knows what the previous owners did to that thing! It might not be safe anymore."

"Honey, these things are tested a gazillion times before they are even put on the market…"

"Not by me," Peter said, shaking his head.

"You want to test the stroller before we buy it?" El asked.

"Why not? For that price, we should be allowed to take it for a test drive."

El laughed. "Or we could simply ask Diana."

"We could. I still think our son deserves the best… Oh, look at that one! It's got a cup holder."

Before Peter could do any more research on the subject, the doctor was ready for them.

"Hello, Elizabeth. Peter, glad you could join us today," she greeted them when they walked into the room. "How have you been feeling?"

"Good. Excited," El replied while she sat down on the exam table.

"No more morning sickness?"

"No, not really."

"And the cravings?"

"Better."

Peter cleared his throat. El shot him a look. "What?"

"I seem to recall a trip to the store to get strawberry ice cream at ten last night," Peter said.

El bit her lip. "Okay, slightly better then."

Doctor Chontos chuckled. "That's perfectly normal. Just don't overdo it with the ice cream. Feel free to eat real strawberries, though. They are rich in folic acid."

"Strawberries. Got it," Peter nodded. They could pick some up on the way home.

El smiled at him, but that smile dimmed when Peter's phone began to ring. "Honey! You left your phone on?"

"Jones knows I'm here. It must be important," Peter tried to explain.

"More important than seeing your son for the first time?" El asked – which, of course, was an entirely rhetorical question.

And so Peter was about to let the call go to voicemail when Dr. Chontos said, "How about I do a preliminary exam and some bloodwork first, so you can take that call? And then we'll do the ultrasound."

Peter looked to El for permission, and she gave him a dark chuckle and a nod. Quickly, Peter took the call outside. "This better be a matter of life and death."

"_I'm sorry, Peter. I know you're at that doctor's appointment, but I figured you'd want to make sure that the Pink Panthers will indeed be serving life,"_ Jones answered and immediately confirmed Peter's fears regarding the nature of his call.

"What happened in court?"

"_The judge granted the continuance but only until noon tomorrow."_

Peter lowered himself into one of the chairs in the hallway. "That's not even 24 hours!"

"_Guess he was in a bad mood."_

"Not as bad as my wife is going to be," Peter muttered.

"_Yeah, I'm sorry. The U.S. Attorney wants us at his office for witness prep like right now. He'll probably have to call on us as early as tomorrow afternoon."_

Peter nodded, his thoughts racing. Jones was right. This was important enough to call. They had to make sure the Pink Panthers went away for life. Anything else was unacceptable. But that didn't change the fact that his wife and son were waiting for him inside that exam room. He was so close this time. And the Pink Panthers had taken too much from him already. Peter wasn't about to let them ruin this moment, too.

"All right, you and Diana should go ahead and get to the U.S. Attorney's office. I'll be there when I can," he told Jones.

"_Got it. See you there."_

Peter put the phone away and headed back inside.

El's eyes found his anxiously. "Do you need to go?" she asked.

He stopped next to the exam table and took her hand. "No. I'm not going anywhere," he promised her. He would keep doing so until they both believed it.

El relaxed, and Dr. Chontos smiled at them. "Here we go then." She slathered gel on El's abdomen and then began gliding the transducer over her belly. "And there he is."

Peter looked up at the screen and momentarily forgot how to breathe. He had seen the picture from the first sonogram, of course, every day in fact, since El had put it up on the fridge. But this was different. This was his son, living, breathing, and moving right before his very own eyes.

"And here we have the heartbeat. Nice and strong."

The room was perfectly quiet except for the sound of their son's heart beating. It almost brought Peter to his knees right there. He had been wrong before. Nothing was important next to this. He would have given everything he had, everything he was to make sure that sound never ceased.

He could only tear his eyes away from the screen when El squeezed his hand. "Honey, are you okay?"

"I can't believe we made… that… him…" Peter confessed.

El's eyes glistened. "Took us long enough."

"But now we have him, and he's… perfect," Peter said, probably grinning like an idiot.

"Let's make sure that's true from a medical perspective, shall we?" Dr. Chontos chimed in and pointed out other organs like the kidneys and the liver, counted fingers and toes, checked for birth defects, and measured his growth.

Peter tried to take it all in, to ask questions, and to store as much information as he could. But he kept getting distracted by this overwhelming sense of awe.

It was like he had been put on a new path, given a new purpose, a new reason for being, and he couldn't wait.

When Dr. Chontos sent them on their way with a new picture for the fridge, Peter helped El into the car and drove even more carefully than usual. Actually, he was wondering if driving was a good idea at all since, statistically speaking, it was the most dangerous way to travel. Forcing a pregnant woman to take the subway didn't sound like a good way to go either and, obviously, walking was out…

"You okay, hon?" El interrupted his brooding.

"Of course. I was going to ask you that," Peter replied. He knew that an ultrasound was supposed to be painless and perfectly safe, but still…

"I always get a little nervous between these sonograms because I can't be sure that he's okay. But now that our son just got a clean bill of health, I couldn't be better," El assured him.

"Not true. You could be better if you had strawberries, which I wanted to pick up for you on the way home," Peter remembered and took a left turn. "I'm sorry, hon, but I'll have to get back to work afterwards."

"That's okay. I don't actually need you. I just need the food you're buying me," El teased him.

Peter chuckled and dropped off his wife at home with more strawberries than she could possibly eat – although, those cravings were no joke, so he wouldn't bet on it.

Rather than get back to the FBI, Peter headed straight for the U.S. Attorney's office. When the secretary told him that he could go right in, he found the new U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, Geoffrey Gibson, his associates, Jones, and Diana all sitting around a table, busy recreating the entire White Collar operation to take down the Pink Panthers.

Gibson looked up first. "Ah, Agent Burke, glad you decided to join us. I was beginning to wonder if I had to do without one of my primary witnesses."

Peter tried not to make face. Never in his entire career had he been accused of not being dedicated enough to his work. But he found that – even if it were true – he wouldn't care. He had been exactly where he had needed to be. "I apologize for being late. I came as soon as I could," he replied simply.

It clearly wasn't good enough for the U.S. Attorney, but Diana broke the ice. "How was the sonogram? Did you get to see the baby?" she asked. She was one of the few people who knew how excited he had been, and as a young mother and a friend she had been excited for him, too.

That's why Peter decided to answer her, even in front of the U.S. Attorney and his associates. "I did. Never seen anything like it. I can't believe I missed it the first time."

"Just wait until you get to have the real thing," Diana said while Peter sat down.

The U.S. Attorney's look had changed, too. He leaned back in his chair with a sympathetic smile. "My wife just had a baby, too."

They had gotten off to a bad start, which could only hurt the case, so Peter gladly accepted this little olive branch. That and he was honestly curious. He didn't know many first-time fathers. "How scary was it?" he asked.

Gibson chuckled. "Never been so scared in my entire life."

Peter nodded. He had feared as much.

"How far along is your wife?"

"20 weeks."

"Lucky you. Those are the good months before they get too big and panicky because of false labor pains."

Peter's brow creased. "False labor?" He hadn't been aware that there was some kind of right and wrong involved.

"Yeah, practice labor contractions they call them. Drove us insane," Gibson remembered.

Peter looked to Diana, who merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say that she was not going to discuss different types of labor with a room full of clueless men.

When she wouldn't answer, Jones shot him a grin. "Sounds like you're in for a lot of fun."

"Yeah, and you should enjoy it," Diana said pointedly.

"I intend to," Peter assured her. He also needed to do a lot of research. His list was growing longer by the day.

Gibson leaned forward again, signaling that he wanted to get back to the issue at hand. "Wait, so you went undercover with the notorious Pink Panthers while you had a baby on the way? That was a brave move. I bet your wife didn't like that."

"No, she didn't, but she understood that the Pink Panther needed to be stopped." Actually, El's understanding for Peter's decision had been somewhat limited, but there was no point in discussing that with the U.S. Attorney. "And they still do."

"Right, that's what we're here for," Gibson nodded. "Would be a lot easier if your CI could still testify to his time with the Panthers."

Peter clenched his teeth. "Yes, we would all prefer that to be the case, especially Neal."

"Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound callous," Gibson apologized. "I read up on you two. Your closing rate was very impressive. He must have been a very interesting man – for a criminal."

"Neal Caffrey was more than just a criminal," Peter said. He hated that this was always going to be his legacy.

"So you trusted him? Can you testify on the stand without perjuring yourself that you believe the reports he gave you on the Panthers?" Gibson asked.

Peter didn't hesitate. "Yes, one hundred percent. We got the Pink Panthers because of Neal. He gave his life for it."

"Good. Say that to the jury with that look in your eyes and they shouldn't even need time to deliberate."

Gibson and his associates looked pleased. Peter didn't say anything. He would do whatever it took to get a conviction but using his pain to manipulate the jury was not what he had in mind. Ironically, Neal would have been the first to tell him to go for it. He had always insisted that testifying was basically just an elaborate con. He was the one who should have been put on the stand.

But Neal was gone, and Peter would make sure that he hadn't died for nothing.

The witness prep took the rest of the day and continued until late in the evening. Eventually, Peter glanced at his watch in alarm. Diana had gone home earlier to be with Theo, and Peter had used that break to let El know that he was going to be a little while longer. That had been three whole hours ago. Three very uncomfortable hours because Gibson had tried to prepare Peter for the cross-examination by the defense.

Mercifully, the U.S. Attorney was satisfied that they were both ready now. "All right, that should do it. Go home to your wife, Agent Burke. Tell her it was my fault."

"What about your wife?" Peter asked. The man did not look like someone who had a newborn baby at home. Not that Peter actually knew what that looked like. But at the very least, he had promised both El and himself that he wouldn't pull any more all-nighters at the office once the baby was born.

"Ah, my wife got someone more qualified than me to help out for the duration of this trial," Gibson told him. "My mother-in-law."

Peter laughed. Yeah, he could see that. Alan and Tina, El's parents, had been over the moon when Peter and El had shared the news about the baby. Then again, the thought of his in-laws staying with them at the house for a prolonged period of time was more terrifying than the idea of quitting his job and staying home himself.

Still, Peter thanked Gibson, said good night, and finally made his way back home.

The house was dark when he got there. El was usually too tired to wait up for him these days, so Peter hadn't expected her to still be awake. Satchmo was asleep on the couch as well and barely even opened one eye to look at him.

"It's okay, Satchmo. You don't have to come and say hello to me. Just go back to sleep," Peter said mockingly.

Satchmo wagged his tail once, had a good yawn, and fell asleep again. Peter smiled at his dog. He had been with them for a long time now. He had helped them get over the disappointment of not having a baby when they had first started trying, and now he would still be there to meet the newest member of the Burke family. It was a nice thought.

Peter got ready for bed and then tiptoed into the bedroom. El was wearing a nightgown that was getting too small for her, and she looked like she had been tossing and turning for a while. As a result, the comforter was only covering her legs and her nightgown had ridden up to expose her baby bump.

Sitting down on his side of the bed, Peter wanted to cover his wife back up so she and the baby wouldn't get cold. But he couldn't resist the temptation. He leaned over and gently placed a hand on El's naked belly. After seeing his son during the ultrasound today, Peter felt like there was even more of a connection between them. Naturally, he would always remain somewhat on the outside during the pregnancy, but he wanted to make an effort at least to get to know his son, even now.

"Hey there, bud," he whispered, not wanting to wake up El. "This is your dad speaking. Your doctor says that you're beginning to hear sounds now, so I guess it's time we had a little talk." Peter had refrained from such silliness before, but now that he could actually imagine his son floating around in there or perhaps doing somersaults, it was a different story.

"First off, go easy on your mother, okay? She would do anything for you. So don't hurt her. And don't take too much time coming out of there because you can't even imagine how long we've been waiting to meet you."

It had been a long time. A really long time. Even if it didn't feel like that anymore. "But don't get me wrong. Not too soon either. I don't want any false starts," Peter added quickly. "When you're ready."

Peter moved his hand a little lower, not sure where it would be closest to his son. "And I'll be ready, too. I'll be there. For you and your mom. I'll figure it out. Because you are what matters now," he said softly, as much to his son as to himself.

He had been so lost in the moment that he startled a little when he suddenly felt El's fingers running through his hair. Peter lifted his head and saw his wife smiling at him.

"Hey, hon. What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.

"Just having a little boy talk," Peter replied with a grin.

El laughed softly. "He's talking already? What a smart kid we're having!"

"Never doubted that for a second." Peter scooted back up to her so he could give her a kiss. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay. You know I sleep better knowing you're home."

Peter sighed. "I'm sorry, hon. I said no more late nights..."

El forgave him with a smile. Clearly, she had never expected him to turn his unpredictable, long working hours into a nine-to-five schedule overnight. Something else did seem to bother her, though. "Is there really a chance that the Pink Panthers might be acquitted?"

"No," Peter answered her quickly, because it was the only answer that was acceptable. "I'm not letting our son be born into a world where criminals like the Pink Panthers go free."

"There's always going to be evil in this world, hon," El said quietly.

"I know, but I have to at least try to change that."

"Just don't forget that you can do just as much good in here with us as you do out there chasing bad guys."

Peter cupped her beautiful face in his hands. "How could I ever forget that? And I didn't say anything about chasing anyone. I'm getting too old for that anyway."

El chuckled. "Honey, you're about to become a father! You can't be old just yet."

"I thought that's exactly what makes me old – at least from our son's perspective."

"Then you're going to be the best old dad ever," El said, her eyes twinkling.

Peter grinned. "Funny, that's exactly what I told him just now."

Whatever response El had been about to give died on her tongue. Her eyes widened and she moved a hand to her belly.

"El? Honey? What is it?" Peter asked anxiously. He hated not knowing what El was feeling. If it was good or bad. He couldn't share it. He couldn't do anything about it. All he could do was stare helplessly and wait with bated breath.

Until the surprise on El's face morphed into a brilliant smile and Peter could breathe again.

"I can feel him move," El whispered, as if she didn't want to break the spell. "I've felt something before, I think, but it was hard to tell. It was just like a bunch of butterflies. But this... somebody is definitely not sleeping in there."

"Really?" Peter dropped his gaze from El's face and the wonder he saw there to her bulging abdomen, wishing he could see inside it again like at the doctor's office today. "Isn't it past your bedtime, young man?"

El gently ran her hand up and down her belly, although Peter wasn't sure if she was trying to soothe the baby or encourage him. "Then maybe you shouldn't have woken him up, _Dad."_

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "So it's my fault now?"

"It's always going to be your fault, hon," El informed him.

"Good to know," Peter said, grinning broadly, and he wiped away a couple of happy tears that had sneakily found their way down El's cheeks. "We're really having a baby, hon," he said, a little dazed.

"Thank God," El chuckled. "Otherwise I'd be really fat."

Peter shook his head. "You're not fat, honey. You're breathtaking."

"I'm also wide awake now, and I need a new nightgown. Would you like to help me get rid of this one?" El offered with a smile that was less wonder and more pure desire.

Peter's grin widened. Eagerly, he leaned over to kiss her. "I love you," he said when he came up for air again.

"We love you, too. Both of us," El replied.

"How do you know that?" Peter asked, amused.

"Because I'm his mother and I know what's good for him. And you are at the top of that list," El said, pulling him closer.

* * *

"I still think we could have also gone with blue."

They had just finished painting the nursery, and Elizabeth took a step back to admire their handiwork. They had chosen a nice, soft green. She liked it, but when it came to the baby, she changed her opinion daily. Nothing was ever quite good enough. She was almost as bad as Peter.

"Yes, but you need to remember to subvert expectations. Teach your child to expect the unexpected," Mozzie advised her. There were specks of green paint on his bald head. It made him look adorable. Then again, Elizabeth's mothering instinct was off the charts right now, so a lot of things seemed adorable to her. "It will stimulate his cognitive development."

Elizabeth lowered her paintbrush. "So green makes for smarter babies? I never heard that before. Did you read that somewhere?"

"Even better, experienced it myself. And also, I personally find this color very soothing. Reminds me of Wednesday."

"The day of the week?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"My safe house," Mozzie explained.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Of course."

"It also makes me think of guacamole, which he will definitely need to learn to appreciate as well," Mozzie mused.

"He's a baby. I think all he will appreciate in the beginning is breast milk and love," Elizabeth said.

Mozzie inclined his head. "I see your point. However, it's never too soon to start teaching them. Luckily, he'll have me to introduce him to the most important rules of good cuisine."

"Oh, will he now?" Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean no offense, of course. We all know that cooking is one of your many talents, but you might need to rest more often and you cannot trust the Suit to pick up the slack."

"None taken. I'm just glad to hear you plan on sticking around once the baby is born," Elizabeth said, smiling. Every time she called Mozzie these days she was afraid there would be no answer. That he would have just disappeared without warning – the same way he had come into her life.

When Mozzie realized what sort of commitments he was making, he made a bit of a face. "I thought I would stop by occasionally – if I have time," he backpedaled.

"You're always welcome, Moz," Elizabeth told him earnestly. "And thank you for today. I had a wonderful time."

"Then my job here is done," Mozzie announced and put down his paintbrush as well.

They heard the front door open downstairs, announcing Peter's return.

"Ah, excellent timing," Mozzie noted and started packing up his things.

"You know you can stay for dinner," Elizabeth said.

Mozzie shook his head. "No, thank you. The Suit's pot roast doesn't agree with me."

"You've never even tried it."

"I've also never had a colonoscopy, but I'm fairly certain I wouldn't enjoy that either," Mozzie retorted.

"You wouldn't enjoy what?" Peter asked, having made his way upstairs and stepping into the room.

"Hey, hon! How was work?" Elizabeth said quickly before Mozzie could answer that question truthfully.

"Uneventful. Just me, a stack of ASAC files, and the ongoing battle against Carpal tunnel," Peter replied while he surveyed the room. "Looks like your day was a lot more exciting."

Elizabeth bit her lip. This hadn't really been planned, so she hadn't talked about it with him first. "Mozzie dropped by, and we decided to go out and have a look at color samples, and it just all came together. What do you think? I know it's not Yankees blue, but I think you'll have enough time to indoctrinate our son when he's old enough to walk."

"It's nice. I like it," Peter said, ignoring her little jab about his obsession with baseball. "But I hope you haven't been on your feet all day to do this."

"Don't worry, Suit. I know how to keep pregnant women comfortable," Mozzie chimed in. "Oh, that reminds me. You should get a birthing pool."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "A birthing pool?"

"So we can have a water birth. It's gentler for the baby and reduces the stress of labor and the risk of fetal complications," Mozzie explained cheerily.

"Did you just say 'we'?" Peter asked before Elizabeth could even think of a response.

"Yes, I'm an excellent birth coach," Mozzie confirmed.

Peter shook his head. "You're not going to be there when my wife gives birth to our son."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll be there!"

"What if you don't make it? You have been known to be somewhat unreliable when it comes to choosing between your responsibilities as a Suit and being home with your wife," Mozzie pointed out.

Peter's expression darkened. "Oh, I will be there. Trust me."

"Okay, but it's always good to have an emergency plan..."

"That still won't include you."

"If you have concerns about me seeing Elizabeth in her birthday suit, I can assure you that childbirth is a perfectly natural process. There's nothing sexual about it..."

Peter's eyes bulged. "Okay, now it's definitely no."

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Are you two done deciding how _I'm_ going to give birth to _my_ baby or do you need me to give you the room?"

Mozzie raised his hands in surrender. "No need. I'm leaving. Clearly, there's need for further study. In the meantime, don't forget about the tea tree oil I gave you. Helps to prevent stretch marks!" he said on his way out. If there was one thing Mozzie knew how to do it was making a quick exit.

"I won't forget," Elizabeth promised him, and then he was gone.

The frown on Peter's face did not ease. "I hope you're not actually planning on using that stuff."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't trust Mozzie to know what the hell he's talking about."

"Did you forget about that time when you were sick last year? You didn't trust Mozzie's cure at first either, and then what happened?" Elizabeth reminded her husband with a smile.

Peter huffed. "That was different."

"How so?"

"Because it's okay if I decide to take a risk and experiment on myself. But we're not taking any risks with the baby."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It's just tea tree oil, honey. It's not poisonous. And you can rub it on my belly tonight, if you like," she offered to get Peter to lighten up. She stepped closer to him until her baby bump was pressed against his stomach. He hadn't even kissed her hello yet.

He realized that, too, and the look on his face finally softened into a smile. "I would like that, actually," he nodded and kissed her first before then wrapping her in his arms.

Elizabeth had just eased into Peter's embrace when she felt him stiffen again. "What's that?" he asked.

She stepped back so she could see what he was pointing at. "Oh, that's a changing table." Elizabeth had almost forgotten about the package Mozzie had schlepped up the stairs amidst a lot of complaining. But he had refused to let her help. "Moz and I bought it when we went out to get paint."

"Honey, I was going to make a list to see which one was the best one to get!" Peter reminded her.

"I know, but it was on sale."

"You can't buy stuff that's on sale," Peter protested. "It means they probably just wanted to get rid of it."

"Honey, it's a changing table. Unless you assemble it wrong, there's not much it can do to the baby," Elizabeth replied patiently. "Which is why you should be the one to assemble it."

Peter's frown returned. "Yeah? Did Mozzie say that?"

"What's going on with you today? What did Moz do to you?" Elizabeth asked, getting a little tired of this.

Peter sighed. "I just didn't think you'd get started on the nursery without me," he admitted.

Elizabeth squeezed his hands. "Honey, we just picked a color and painted the room. You hate painting – and picking colors, for that matter," she reminded him.

"Not when it's for my son. And now he has a painted nursery and a changing table and whatever Mozzie is going to haul in here next, and I had nothing to do with it. But I'm still his father, not Mozzie."

"Really? You really felt the need to say that out loud?" Elizabeth asked, crossing her arms.

Peter had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "This just makes me feel even more useless than I already do," he confessed eventually.

Elizabeth loosened her stance. "What do you mean 'useless'?"

"Well, you're doing all the work right now... giving life to our son. And all I'm doing, at best, is giving you moral support. But this, the nursery, now that is something I could have done, or we could have done together. Except, now you're debating colors and parenting with Mozzie, and he knows all about tree oils and water births..."

"Okay, honey, stop," Elizabeth cut him off. "You're not useless. Yes, I'm the one carrying the baby, but the only reason I'm not freaking out about everything is knowing that I have you and that you'll always take care of me and our son – be that by spending hours comparing different changing tables or driving halfway across town to get me the special cheese I like."

Peter's lips slowly curled up into a smile. "Yeah?"

"Yes, but if it makes you feel any better, you can take all the night shifts once the baby is actually here," Elizabeth teased.

Peter gave an uneasy laugh, but he nodded. "I kind of thought that was a given," he said, and Elizabeth could see it in his eyes that he was absolutely determined to step up and accept that challenge.

More proof of how ridiculous it was to think that he wasn't needed. She couldn't do this without him. And she didn't want to either.

"And as for Mozzie... He's so lonely now that Neal is gone. When we're spending time together, we both miss him a little less," Elizabeth said softly. "I think taking care of me and the baby helps to distract Mozzie from the pain of losing his best friend. And being with Mozzie reminds me how grateful I am that I got to know Neal, even for a little bit. It's a good thing for both of us."

Peter wrapped an arm around her and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I can understand that," he agreed. "I still don't want him there for the birth."

"Well, we're not having a water birth anyway," Elizabeth said.

"We're not?"

"No, we're having this baby in the hospital where he can get all the help he could possibly need, just in case." A natural water birth sounded wonderful, but Elizabeth wasn't exactly a young woman anymore. She was not going to take any risks. She absolutely agreed with Peter on that.

He looked relieved. "Good, and I promise you, El, no matter what, I will be there when our son is born."

"You better be. You got me into this, mister." El nudged him.

Peter grinned. "Yes, I did."

* * *

When Elizabeth and Satchmo got back home after a long walk, they were both panting.

"Don't we make quite the pair," Elizabeth chuckled when she noticed that.

Satchmo wagged his tail and ran ahead into the kitchen, having recovered a lot quicker than Elizabeth. He barked once as if to tell her to hurry up.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming. I know you're hungry," Elizabeth called and made her way into the kitchen to feed her dog.

"You know what? Mommy's hungry, too," she said as she watched Satchmo inhale his food. "But first I need to pee." Satchmo didn't even look up from his bowl to acknowledge her. "Yeah, I know. What else is new, right?"

Elizabeth laughed and went into the bathroom – where her laughter faded instantly. She was bleeding. She hadn't even noticed it during her walk with Satchmo. It wasn't a lot of blood, but enough to need a fresh pair of panties and definitely enough to freak her out. She had been at the doctor's office only yesterday and everything had been fine. But that was yesterday, and now, today, Elizabeth was thinking of all the pregnancy complications she had read about.

It was way too soon for her to be in labor, but the alternatives seemed just as bad. Either way, Elizabeth wasn't about to trust anything she had read in a book. She needed to see Dr. Chontos again.

Elizabeth left the bathroom and called Peter while she was changing her clothes. There was no answer when she tried his desk phone and his cell also went straight to voicemail. That's when she remembered that Peter had that video conference with Bruce and other higher-ups in Washington today. Naturally, that meeting took place at the exact same time that she needed her husband.

Closing her eyes for a minute, Elizabeth held back the tears. She had always been afraid of this. That her body would betray her and take back what it had refused to give her for so long. But she couldn't afford to panic now. Even without Peter here.

Her phone rang, and even though Elizabeth saw right away that it wasn't Peter, she was relieved. "Mozzie! I'm so glad you called!"

"_You are? Is this a case of great minds thinking alike? Were you also just in the mood for a nice, freshly brewed cup of Darjeeling or, in your case, herbal tea?"_ Mozzie pondered on the other end of the line.

"No, Moz. I think there might be something wrong with the baby," Elizabeth replied.

Mozzie's tone changed instantly. _"What? Why?"_

"Because I'm bleeding."

"_Then why didn't you interrupt me when I was still going on about tea like a..."_

"Mozzie," Elizabeth interrupted him.

"_Right. Where are you?"_

"At home. I can't get a hold of Peter, and I'm not sure if I should drive myself."

This time Mozzie didn't hesitate. _"I'm on my way. Just hold on."_

"Thank you, Mozzie," Elizabeth said and took a deep breath, about to put away the phone.

"_No, don't hang up!"_ she heard Mozzie yell just in time.

Frowning, she held the phone back up to her ear. "But aren't you driving now?" She had definitely heard the slamming of a car door and the sound of an engine starting.

"_I'm a multi-tasker,"_ Mozzie brushed aside her concern. _"Now keep talking."_

"About what?" Elizabeth asked. She had a hard time focusing.

"_Let's talk baby names,"_ Mozzie suggested. _"So, Teddy is already taken, obviously, but Mozart is still available. It might seem a little outlandish, but think about it. Do you really want to limit your child to being just another 'Jack' or 'Oliver'?"_

Despite herself, Elizabeth had to smile a little. Still, she said, "Mozzie, I can't think about that right now."

"_But that's the point! Never underestimate the power of positive thinking! If you convince yourself that there's nothing wrong with the baby, then there won't be,"_ Mozzie insisted.

Elizabeth sighed. "Well... Peter likes Alexander."

"_Strong name," _Mozzie commented. _"Fitting that the Suit would like it. But I sense that you don't want your son to follow in the footsteps of a man who once ruled the greatest empire of the ancient world."_

"Not particularly, no," Elizabeth admitted. "I kind of like Mateo."

"_Ah, now we're getting somewhere. It's not Mozart, but it's close. Little Mateo. I could see that. He would break a lot of hearts, that one."_

"No, he wouldn't!" Elizabeth protested. "Why would you say that? I'm not going to teach my son to break hearts."

"_But isn't that simply what hearts do?" _Mozzie mused.

"It's not what they should do," Elizabeth disagreed. "I mean, yes, they love, and sometimes that can hurt. It can hurt a lot." She rested a hand on her pregnant belly. "But only if you loved a lot, too, and if you dare to love again."

"'_And in the end, we were all just humans... drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness,'"_ Mozzie quoted someone Elizabeth didn't recognize.

But she did recognize the sadness in his voice. "You're not broken, Moz."

"_The absence of cracks on the outside does not always reflect what's on the inside."_

"Then you better get some Scotch tape and piece it back together because that's what you do when there are people who need you."

"_Scotch tape? Is that how a professional even planner fixes things?" _Mozzie asked.

"In a pinch, why not? You just got to believe and have some faith."

"_Otherwise known as positive thinking."_

Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but then a chuckle escaped her lips instead. "Touché, Mozzie."

"_Thank you, but I'm almost at your house. So hold that thought, and then we can focus on getting you to your doctor."_

Quickly, Elizabeth got up and went downstairs. When she opened the door, Mozzie's yellow taxicab screeched to a halt in front of her. Mozzie jumped out of the car and helped her get into the cab. Elizabeth told Mozzie where to go and they sped off while Elizabeth left Peter another voicemail to let him know that they were going to the doctor's office.

Halfway there, Elizabeth noticed that Mozzie had left the taximeter running. It made her wonder if he was actually still spending his time as a cabbie. The thought had been funny when she had first found out. Now it made her sad to think that he might not know what else to do with his life. Familiar routines could be helpful to work through grief, but Mozzie wasn't someone to settle. It seemed like only a matter of time until he got bored with them.

Elizabeth sighed. Well, not today, at least.

When they arrived at the doctor's office, Mozzie didn't bother with finding a proper parking space. Inside, Elizabeth gave the receptionist her name and explained her symptoms.

"Any cramps, fever, or dizziness?" the nurse asked.

"No, I don't think so," Elizabeth replied, hoping that was a good sign.

The nurse didn't seem overly concerned. Then again, that was her job. "All right, you can wait in exam room 2. Dr. Chontos will be with you as soon as she can."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, glad that they weren't dismissing her.

"I'll be waiting somewhere out here then," Mozzie said hesitantly.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Will you come in with me? Please." She didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but she didn't want to be alone either.

"Oh, um, of course," Mozzie nodded and followed her.

Inside the exam room, he studied the posters on the wall while Elizabeth changed out of her clothes and into a gown. "Did you know that all fetuses have a mustache, called a lanugo?" he asked.

Elizabeth sat on the exam table. "Are you saying we should call him Magnum?"

"Only if you want to scar him for life."

"Right now, all I want is for him to be okay."

"He will be," Mozzie promised her. "Because your body is communicating everything you think and feel to your baby, and so he must know that there's nothing to be afraid of and that he'll be in excellent hands once he decides to come out of there."

Elizabeth smiled and squeezed his hand in thanks.

She had no idea how long they had been waiting – the minutes felt like hours to Elizabeth – when Dr. Chontos opened the door and walked into the room with Elizabeth's patient file in hand. "Elizabeth, don't take this the wrong way, but I was not hoping to see you again so soon."

"Me either," Elizabeth replied with a dark chuckle.

"Well, let's find out what's going on, okay?" Dr. Chontos sat on her chair and rolled over to begin her exam.

Mozzie made sure to stay next to Elizabeth's head and direct his eyes anywhere except at what Dr. Chontos was doing between Elizabeth's legs. Elizabeth was way past any embarrassment, but it was actually a nice distraction to watch Mozzie trying so hard to protect her modesty.

And then Peter burst into the room, looking as if he had run all the way here from Federal Plaza. Even though there was nothing he could do, Elizabeth immediately felt a little safer. Mozzie quickly stepped aside so Peter could run up to Elizabeth and take his place by her side.

"El! Are you okay, hon? Tell me everything's okay!"

Helplessly, Elizabeth looked from her husband to her doctor, not sure how to answer.

"Relax, Peter. Take a breath. I've had fathers pass out in here before," Dr. Chontos said. "Your wife and son are both fine."

Peter and Elizabeth exhaled at the same time.

"What you're dealing with is a minor cervical irritation. During pregnancy, the blood vessels in your cervix can become inflamed, especially when the weight of the uterus puts pressure on them. It's not serious, but sometimes a pelvic exam like the one I did yesterday can then cause bleeding," Dr. Chontos explained. "And did you perhaps have sex yesterday or today?"

Mozzie harrumphed. "I think that's my cue…"

But Elizabeth didn't wait for him to leave. "This morning," she answered her doctor's question, and Mozzie froze.

"No need to feel guilty. That's perfectly all right. But it's also something that can cause the bleeding. It'll go away. And there are absolutely no signs of preterm labor or your baby being in distress. So everything is fine," Dr. Chontos assured them.

"Thank you, Doctor. And thank you for seeing me, even though, I guess, it wasn't an emergency after all," Elizabeth said.

"No, no, you did the right thing by coming in. This could have been a sign of a more serious problem. And even if it wasn't, if you feel uncomfortable, don't hesitate to come and see me," Dr. Chontos told her. "Now, so that we can all rest easy tonight, would you like to see him real quick?"

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged an excited look. "Could we?"

"Sure, why not? What about you, little man? Are you in or out?" Dr. Chontos asked Mozzie, who was hovering halfway across the room.

"I'm not sure my services are needed any longer," Mozzie replied.

"Come on, Mozzie. Stay and see the baby," Elizabeth coaxed him into staying.

He gave a quick nod, and Dr. Chontos started the ultrasound machine. "There you go. And look at that, already grown a little since yesterday."

Elizabeth held on to Peter's hand as she drunk in the sight of their healthy baby, and the firmness of Peter's grasp told her that he did the same.

It was Mozzie, actually, who spoke. "Handsome little guy. Looks just like his mother."

Peter frowned at him. "You cannot possibly tell that yet."

"I can still hope that he will turn out just like his mother, can't I?" Mozzie countered.

Peter chuckled. "I can't actually argue with that."

Dr. Chontos printed out the image, turned off the machine, and wiped the gel of Elizabeth's abdomen. "Now, I will see you next month. Can we agree on that?" she asked while standing up.

"Yes, Doctor."

"Excellent. Oh, and maybe take it easy today. But once the bleeding subsides, feel free to have sex again. I always tell my patients to use the little window they have left before the baby comes to spend some quality time with each other," Dr. Chontos said, and Elizabeth couldn't help the feeling that she had done so on purpose to watch Mozzie grimace.

He was certainly quick to follow Dr. Chontos out the door when she turned to leave. "I better make sure they haven't towed my cab yet. I'll be seeing you for that cup of tea when you're feeling better!" he said hastily on his way out.

"Mozzie!" Peter stopped him. Somewhat reluctantly, Mozzie turned back around. "Thank you," Peter said sincerely.

"Of course," Mozzie nodded. "I'll be sending you…"

"…the bill for the ride in your cab, I know," Peter finished his sentence, but he did so with a smile.

"Right. No need to tip me, though. I don't accept tips from friends and family. Anyway, that's what I would do if I had any left," Mozzie said.

Elizabeth smiled at both men. "You have us."

Mozzie didn't say anything, but he was whistling when he left.

Elizabeth was just as eager to go home. To her relief, Peter decided not to go back to the office for the rest of the day. So while he took care of Satchmo, Elizabeth could take a bath to get rid of any residual stress. The warm water helped to calm down both her and the baby, and there was no fresh blood either.

When she was done and made her way back into the living room, she could laugh freely again. Peter had made an early dinner with some of her favorite pregnancy foods, and he was humming along to 'You're having my baby' when she came down the stairs.

"What's all this?" Elizabeth asked when she reached her husband and he took her into his arms.

"I thanked Mozzie for being there for you when I wasn't, but I need to thank you, really," Peter replied.

"For having your baby?" Elizabeth chuckled.

"Well, yeah, everything in that song is true. But also, for forgiving me for not having my phone on me."

"Honey, you couldn't have known that those couple of minutes would be critical. And they weren't, actually. I could have waited for you to come out of that meeting. I just overreacted."

Peter shook his head. "No, you made sure our son was okay. You heard what Dr. Chontos said. You did the right thing, honey. Speaking of which, I made a call to the Rusty Egret. I thought we could spend one more weekend up there before it's no longer just the two of us. If you're feeling up to it."

"Oh, honey, I would love to." Elizabeth happily pressed a kiss to his lips. "Do you still remember the first time we were there?"

"Of course. Our first wedding anniversary," Peter nodded. "And enjoyed it every time since then. But we haven't made it up there in a while now."

"No, our latest kidnapping kind of got in the way," Elizabeth remembered.

"Let's call it our 'last' kidnapping, because that's never happening again,' Peter said grimly.

"Fine by me. But for what it's worth, being kidnapped with you was a lot better than being kidnapped alone."

Peter groaned. "I can't believe you can actually make that comparison."

"We've been through a lot, but what matters is that we made it here." Elizabeth's smile was bittersweet. "And if I had to, I would do it all over again."

Peter tightened his hold on her. "Me, too."

They leaned in to kiss again, and then their son kicked so hard that even Peter could feel it.

"What was that?" he asked, eyes wide.

Elizabeth laughed. "I think he's saying... we better get ready. And soon."


	3. Family First

**A/N: Here we go with chapter three. This is a big one! I thought about splitting it into two parts, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. Also, it's my birthday this weekend. So, if you'd like to make me a little present, leave me a review. **

* * *

Elizabeth got suspicious when Peter didn't open the door for her. They had just returned from another doctor's appointment. Usually, her loving husband would open the passenger door for her, help her out of the car and up the front steps to the house, and then hurry to unlock the door. Today, he was hanging back, and Elizabeth thought she knew what that meant.

She headed inside and tried to brace herself. Sure enough, her sister welcomed her with a huge grin and a loud, "Surprise!"

Her mother appeared right next to her. "Maddie, we talked about this! You don't jump into a pregnant woman's face and yell surprise!"

Madeline Mitchell didn't look overly concerned. "Sorry, sis. Surprise!" she repeated a little less loud.

Elizabeth looked past her and her eyes widened. Her mother and sister weren't the only surprise guests. Her father, everyone from Burke Premiere Events, Jones and Diana, June, several of her girlfriends, and even Sara Ellis were all waiting in her living room amidst colorful balloons and streamers.

"What did you do?" Elizabeth asked as she gave both her sister and her mother a dazed hug.

Peter had finally followed her inside, and when she glanced at him, he only shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me."

"Come on, Lizzie. You're a party planner. You love parties!" Maddie reminded her.

"Well…" Elizabeth said. Not necessarily in her own living room while she was the size of a horse.

"Your sister is right. You've been waiting for this baby for so long. We couldn't possibly not throw you a baby shower!" Tina Mitchell decided, and that was that.

Maddie clapped her hands. "Right, first, the rules!"

Peter frowned. "Rules? I didn't know baby showers had rules."

"The games we're going to play do. And the first one is that you can't say the word baby." Maddie handed them both a diaper pin. "Wear these on your shirts, and if you catch someone saying you-know-what, you can steal their pin. So, mum's the word!"

"Can I say it again after I've lost my pin? For example, if I ask Tina if she would like to see the new baby pictures?" Peter asked. He had never quite understood the Mitchell family's enthusiasm for playing games.

Maddie shot him a dark look, but she didn't get to say anything because Elizabeth's mom beat her to it. "Your doctor did another ultrasound? Oh, you kids are so lucky. In my time we only got two, at the most!" she said and eagerly reached for the black-and-white image Peter offered her. "Wow, he's gotten so big!"

"Oh yes, I can attest to that," Elizabeth laughed, resting a hand on her swollen abdomen.

"Sweetheart, you look wonderful!" her mom assured her.

"I tell her that every day," Peter said.

Tina handed the picture back to him. "Yes, but you have to say that because it's your fault she looks like this – since you're the one who knocked her up, you _bad boy_."

Peter made a face and Elizabeth chuckled. She knew how much her husband still hated that nickname, almost as much as the handknit sweaters. She could only imagine how relieved he had been that he couldn't wear one of them today (because it would have ruined the surprise).

Not wanting to be rude, Elizabeth made her way into the living room to greet all her unexpected guests. The last one she got around to was her father. Alan Mitchell seemed entirely unfazed by the fact that he looked completely out of place in the middle of all these baby shower decorations. He just sat there in an armchair, calm and observing, as usual. But when Elizabeth approached him, his face lit up with a huge smile – one that, according to Peter, was reserved for his two daughters only, and absolutely unattainable for his sons-in-law.

"Will you look at that! My little honeybee is not so little anymore!"

Elizabeth gave him a hug. "Yes, very funny, Dad."

"How is my grandson doing?"

"At the moment he's wondering if there's any food at this party," Elizabeth replied.

"Of course. You know your mother. She's been baking since yesterday. Cupcakes, I believe. The ones without all the frosting are meant for you and the b... little one, but you should sneak off with a blue one. Those actually taste good," her dad informed her.

Elizabeth laughed. "Thanks, Dad. But since when are you giving out advice on how to sneak around behind mom's back?"

"My colleagues have informed me that a grandfather's primary purpose is 'to spoil his grandkids rotten.' I thought I might as well get started on that," Alan explained. "I have already done my part in raising you and your sister to become the remarkable women that you are. Disciplining this little boy will be your job."

Elizabeth looked skeptical. "So, you're saying that he can do whatever he wants and you won't tell him no?"

"Well, not whatever he wants..." Alan hedged.

"Eat candy before dinner?" Elizabeth suggested.

Her father frowned. "One piece of chocolate has never harmed anyone, I suppose."

"Miss dinner because he stayed outside playing with his friends?" Elizabeth pressed.

"As long as they would have been playing outside... Fresh air is good for children," Alan replied, but his eyes were narrowing.

"Secretly watch TV when it's past his bedtime?" Elizabeth continued, and her father caved.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! What are you planning on teaching this child? I know times have changed, but it's important for children to learn that there are rules that need to be followed. Otherwise they have a much harder time becoming contributing members of society," he said, the psychiatrist in him resurfacing.

Elizabeth burst out laughing. "I knew you couldn't keep that up. Don't worry, Dad. Peter and I will be setting boundaries."

"Have you talked about which one of you will be the disciplinarian?"

"Um, no... why would it be only one of us? We made this ba... child together and we'll be raising him together. I don't see why either Peter or I should always have to be the bad guy."

"I heard my name and 'bad guy' in the same sentence. Should I be worried what you two are talking about?" Peter asked, having made the rounds and appearing at her side. "Hello, Alan," he added by way of greeting Elizabeth's father.

"Peter," Alan gave him a nod in return.

Elizabeth sighed. Even now that this baby would bind them by blood, her husband and her father still couldn't figure out if they should hug or not.

"We were just talking about what kind of parents we're going to be," Elizabeth explained to distract from their awkward greeting.

Peter immediately looked like he regretted coming over here. "I thought it's impossible to know that until you're actually doing it."

"That is certainly true," Alan nodded. "How does that make you feel, Peter?"

"Like I should say the word 'baby' really loud," Peter replied, and Elizabeth bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh.

It worked, though. Maddie had heard them, and she came to remove the diaper pin from Peter's shirt – and to save him from having to answer Alan's question. "Okay, Peter, this one counts! Your pin is mine now. And if you don't like this game, we can play another one."

She turned them around to face a wall with a whole bunch of baby pictures. "We've collected pictures from everyone here from when they were little, and now you have to figure out which picture belongs to whom. And I want you, Peter, to start by finding Lizzie's picture."

"That's easy. All I need to do is pick the one that's the most adorable," Peter said boldly, and he really did choose a photo of her without so much as a second of hesitation. He took it off the wall and held it up to Elizabeth's face. "Still every bit as beautiful."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't resist his goofy grin and gave him a kiss – to a chorus of 'aww' from everyone in the room.

Only Maddie looked a little miffed. "Mom, I told you to bring one he doesn't know!"

"I did. I found that one in an old photo album up in the attic," Tina assured her.

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Elizabeth said.

"Not because it's not a beautiful picture but because we have so many of them," Tina quickly explained. "Peter can't possibly have seen them all!"

"Don't need to. I'm an FBI agent. This is what I do," Peter said.

Elizabeth patted his arm. "Okay, Mr. FBI, then you won't need me to win this game," she said. Her feet were starting to hurt. She needed to sit down. Jones made room for her on the couch so she could squeeze in next to Sara.

Jones looked a little lost anyway. So Peter waved him over to help him sort out the other photos – the ones from Elizabeth's friends and her team from Burke Premiere Events proving the most difficult. Diana joined them to help, and soon the three FBI agents were comparing facial features and bone structures while Maddie did her best to confuse them.

Elizabeth sighed and put her feet up.

"How are those ankles?" Sara asked with a sympathetic smile.

"Sore. I guess I won't be getting any of those cupcakes any time soon," Elizabeth joked.

"Oh, I can get you some," Sara offered, and before Elizabeth could stop her, she had already jumped to her feet and hurried off to the kitchen. She returned with a plate filled with cupcakes for the both of them.

Elizabeth decided to be responsible and took one of the cupcakes her mother had intended for her to eat. "Thank you, but I hope you didn't fly all the way over here just to watch my husband play 'Guess the baby' and bring me cupcakes."

Sara grinned and removed Elizabeth's diaper pin. She had forgotten they were still playing that game, too. "First of all, I guess that's mine now," Sara winked at her. "And secondly, these cupcakes are really good. I know you're having a boy, but you should teach him how to bake anyway. Your family is seriously talented." Of course, Sara was eating one of the blue cupcakes with lots of frosting. "But no, I'm here for a business meeting, so it all worked out perfectly."

"You seem to be having a lot of meetings in New York lately," Elizabeth observed.

"Yeah, London is great, but I miss living in New York – even if it's not quite the same anymore. No offense to you guys."

"None taken," Elizabeth assured her.

"I just didn't think it would be this hard to move on."

"From the city... or from Neal?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"Both, I guess." Sara slowly finished her cupcake, thinking. "Turns out I was always kind of hoping that if he were to serve out his time with the FBI and lose the anklet the right way, we might have a chance to try again, to see if we could make it work like normal people – whatever normal would have looked like with Neal." Sara shook her head and reached for another cupcake. "Of course, I only realized that now that all of it is gone."

Elizabeth wished there was something she could say to make Sara feel better. But there wasn't. Not really. So she just watched while Sara finished the plate with the cupcakes.

The redheaded woman groaned. "Great, now I'm the one stress eating. You're the one who should be freaking out."

"Why would I be freaking out?" Elizabeth asked.

"Uh, because you're about to push an actual human being of about eight pounds out of a very, very tiny opening?" Sara said with an apologetic smile and a shrug.

Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. "Well, if you put it that way..."

They both laughed. "Sorry, I'd be a terrible midwife. But seriously, aren't you scared?"

"Of the pain? A little. But it can't possibly hurt more than thinking we could never have a baby," Elizabeth admitted.

Sara nodded. "Yeah, I get that. And you have Peter."

Her husband, Jones, and Diana were just giving each other high fives. Apparently, they had solved the baby picture challenge. Elizabeth smiled to herself. "Yes, I do. And I'm really sorry you and Neal will never get that second chance."

Sara was quiet for so long, Elizabeth thought she wasn't going to respond at all. Then she said, "He proposed to me once."

"Neal?" Elizabeth asked, surprised that she had never heard of that before. "How? When?"

"Right before I left for London. On the top of the Empire State Building. I mean, it was just another con. They were trying to get to that evidence box..."

Ah, that explained why Elizabeth didn't know that story. That was the day Peter had been arrested and her entire world had collapsed when she had gotten that phone call.

"It wasn't real. But just for a moment, it felt like it was," Sara said wistfully.

"Would you have said yes if it had been?" Elizabeth asked softly.

"Honestly? I don't know," Sara confessed. "I want to say yes. Especially now that he's gone, I want nothing more than the chance to say yes. But I don't know how I could have ever trusted him enough not to be afraid that he might run off again."

Elizabeth squeezed the other woman's hand. "Neal was complicated, but he never hurt the people he loved, not without making it right again."

Sara looked like she wasn't sure if that made her feel better or a lot worse.

But there was no time to figure that out. Since the baby picture challenge was done, there were more games to play, and they were expected to participate. Everyone was supposed to guess Elizabeth's exact measurements by cutting a piece of string and wrapping it around her belly (Peter was banned from that one). Then there was guessing different baby foods and baby names and identifying baby items in a diaper bag, and so on.

Eventually, Elizabeth was so exhausted that she decided to steal one of those blue cupcakes from the kitchen after all. She felt so guilty about it that she almost jumped right out of her skin when there was a sudden knock on the back door. She relaxed when she recognized the familiar silhouette of a short, bald man with glasses.

"Hey, Mozzie. Is something wrong with our front door?"

"It poses too great a risk of being talked into staying," he explained.

Elizabeth smiled. "Not your kind of party?"

"That would be a definite no. However, I am aware that it is customary to present the mother-to-be with a gift, so I came by to give this to you."

He handed her a bag, in which she found a handmade mobile. The rotating characters were all tiny teddy bears but each looked different. One was playing a Saxophone, others were reading, cooking, or playing baseball, and one of them was wearing a fedora while the one right next to it wore a jacket that said FBI.

"Mozzie! Did you make this?" Elizabeth asked, amazed and almost reduced to tears, but she was trying to blink those away.

"Yes. It was Neal's idea. Teddy seemed to be enjoying his. So when you told us that you were expecting, Neal designed it, and I built it."

Elizabeth had a hard time finding the right words. So she hugged Mozzie instead. "Thank you! It's beautiful. I love it, and I know the baby will love it, too."

"Yes, well, perhaps one day you can tell him who thought of it," Mozzie said, and he looked so sad, it made Elizabeth want to hug him again.

"Or maybe you can tell him," she said. She knew she was repeating herself, but she wouldn't stop reminding him that he was welcome in their lives.

And Mozzie wouldn't stop clinging to his independence. "I try never to venture too far into the future. The only thing certain in my immediate future is that my bee hives need tending. So this is where I leave you."

Elizabeth was wise enough to let him go.

She looked at the beautiful mobile again, and then she forgot all about sneaking off with a cupcake and went upstairs instead. When she walked into the nursery, Elizabeth wasn't particularly surprised to find Peter already in there. He was sitting on the beanbag chair they had gotten for when Elizabeth would be breastfeeding.

The image made her laugh, and Peter looked up when he heard her. "Honey, we can't both be hiding up here. They will figure out that something is missing," she told him.

"Why would you want to hide?" Peter asked, frowning. "Your mother assured me that you would love this party."

"I do. I think it's lovely that they all wanted to come and celebrate with us. I just needed a moment."

Peter quickly stood to make room for her. "Come sit, honey."

"No, if I sit now, I will never make it back downstairs," Elizabeth said, rubbing her belly with her free hand, trying to get the baby to move his foot. He did, but only to poke her in the side with his elbow instead.

"Is it time again?" Peter asked eagerly and walked up to her to rest his hands on her stomach. Lately, the baby had been especially active around this time of day, and it thrilled Peter every time to feel his son push against his hands from the inside.

Elizabeth shared his excitement. She only wished her son wouldn't be head butting her in the bladder at the same time.

"Oh, he'll be an athlete all right. He already knows how to stretch," Peter grinned. "There you go, son! Don't forget the other leg."

"Honey! Don't encourage him. The room in there is getting very limited, you know," Elizabeth warned him.

Peter smiled up at her, but he continued to talk to the baby. He had read that fetuses could supposedly recognize their father's voice from 32 weeks onwards, and he used every opportunity to make that happen. It was cute, if a little exhausting at times. "And you should make sure to use every inch of it, son. We want you to be big and strong."

"Easy for you to say," Elizabeth muttered, thinking of what Sara had said about the tiny opening their son would use to come into this world.

"It'll be fine, El. You will both do great," Peter said. It would have sounded like an empty promise, except he absolutely believed it to be true. And Elizabeth chose to believe the same.

When Peter straightened up, he noticed the mobile in her other hand. "What's that?" he asked.

Elizabeth held it up for him to see better. "It's from Neal," she said softly.

Peter's eyes went from the mobile straight back to hers, open, confused, and vulnerable. "What?"

"Well, Mozzie made it, but it was Neal's idea. He designed it," Elizabeth explained. And it was still every bit as unfair that he had never gotten the chance to give it to them in person.

Peter reached out to touch the teddy bear wearing the fedora. "Of course, he did," he said with a heavy heart and a sad little smile.

"I know you probably want to test it first, make sure it's safe..." Elizabeth hedged.

"No, I'll... put it up first thing tomorrow," Peter replied and took the mobile from her to carry it over to the crib.

"Are you okay, hon?" Elizabeth asked when her husband stood next to the crib with his back turned to her.

She watched him take a deep breath and square his shoulders. "Yes," he said. "I found something, too." He turned back around and handed her a small, folded piece of clothing.

Elizabeth gasped when she recognized it. It was a baby onesie labeled 'World's Youngest FBI agent.' Peter had bought it several years ago when they had thought they might be pregnant. But it hadn't turned out that way, and that onesie had broken both of their hearts. Elizabeth had never thought about it again, unaware that Peter had kept it. Then again, throwing it out would have probably felt wrong, too.

"I don't know if you want to use it or not..." Peter said cautiously.

"Of course, I do. We've been waiting long enough, don't you think?" Elizabeth replied and laid the onesie on her belly. "Perfect fit."

Peter grinned. "More like this." He turned the onesie upside down so the opening for the head was pointing down. Because Dr. Chontos had told them today that the baby had already moved into that position. Which was a huge relief.

Elizabeth smiled. "As long as you're aware that he won't actually become an FBI agent."

"Why not?"

"Because my heart couldn't take it. One is more than enough," she said.

"Hey, I've done it all by the book lately. I'm now an ASAC that supervises from the safety of his office," Peter pointed out.

Elizabeth rested her hands on his chest. "And I do appreciate that, hon," she said and kissed him.

Peter cupped her face and started kissing her back when her sister called from downstairs:

"If you don't come back down here to open these gifts, I'm keeping them!"

Their little stolen moment was over.

Peter picked the onesie off her belly and put it in the dresser. The nursery was already filled with a whole lot of baby stuff. Still, they joined their family and friends to unpack some more.

* * *

Peter had heard his phone ring and he had identified the voice on the other end as belonging to Jones, but he couldn't understand a word Jones was saying because El was vacuuming all around him. If one could call it that. She was attacking the floor as if every little grain of dust was potentially life-threatening.

"Sorry, Jones. I didn't catch that. El's cleaning the house."

"_Should she still be doing that?" _Jones wondered.

The younger agent wasn't an expert on babies (and had previously complained about feeling like the odd man out when Peter and Diana really got into it). But it was sweet that he still cared. "I think she's nesting. Apparently, it's normal. So, you know, better not ask." Peter went into the kitchen so he could hear a little better. "What's up, Jones?"

"_It's about the Pink Panthers. Alan Woodford was found dead in prison this morning."_

Peter grabbed a hold of the kitchen island. He had been preoccupied with thoughts about the baby and waiting for the birth. This news caught him completely by surprise. "What the hell happened?"

"_Not really sure yet. Preliminary reports say that he was stabbed and left bleeding to death in the shower. Prison officials don't know any more than that at this point. Technically, this is no longer a white-collar case, but we've been asked to share some insight if we have any – since we're the ones who brought Woodford in."_

Peter nodded, his mind already spinning with possibilities what this could mean. He had not seen this coming, and it couldn't have come at a worse time either. "Jones, I have a nine-months pregnant wife who is two days past her due date and trying to induce labor. I cannot leave," he told him. They couldn't change anything about the gruesome fate the former leader of the Panthers had met anyway. And Peter wasn't going to shed a tear for him either.

"_I know, but I figured you'd still want to know,"_ Jones said.

"I do. But you've got this. Go to the prison and see what's going. Try to keep me updated. If I don't answer... I'm having a baby," Peter said with a dazed little grin that, of course, Jones couldn't see.

"_Got it. And, um, good luck with that."_

"Thanks, Jones. You, too."

When Peter got off the phone, El had finally finished vacuuming and joined him in the kitchen. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"Nothing," Peter said quickly.

"Doesn't look like nothing," El observed after taking a closer look at the worry lines on Peter's face.

"Okay, it's something," he admitted.

El huffed. "Well, what is it?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, honey, but I really don't want to tell you right now," Peter said.

"Because you're worried it might scare me into labor? If so, you absolutely have to tell me," El insisted.

Peter sighed. He understood that she was feeling uncomfortable and wanted this baby out. He did, too. And Dr. Chontos had confirmed that it was okay to gently try to help matters along. Still, Peter thought they should let their son decide when it was time.

But that was neither here nor there. His wife wanted an answer, and Peter did not want to upset her.

"Someone killed Alan Woodford in prison."

"What?" El leaned against the kitchen island for support. "Why? Who would that? He was already on his way to serving life!"

"I don't know. We don't know what happened yet. His death is still being investigated at the prison."

El thought about that for a moment. "Okay, then you need to go."

Peter shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving you, El. Jones can do this."

"I'm sure he can. But I know that look on your face, hon. This was the last case you worked on with Neal. You have to see this through. It's what you do. I know you want to."

"Not as much as I want to be with you," Peter said, resting his hands on her arms.

"That's sweet. But this baby isn't coming right now, despite my best efforts. And when it does, I want you to be able to focus on us, not work. So, go now and see if you can be more useful solving this case. No need for both of us to stay here and go crazy."

Peter looked at his wife and had no idea what to do. "Are you sure, hon?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Just be back tonight. There's something we haven't tried yet to induce labor," El said, planting a kiss on his lips as best as she could. Her large baby bump made it a little difficult to be close to one another. But apparently, that was not going to stop them from trying later.

Peter decided to do as he was told. As usual, El was right. Knowing that there was something going on with the Pink Panthers would drive him crazy. He didn't like loose ends – especially not now that their son was about to be born. Still, the thought of leaving El alone tied his stomach up in knots. It was the one thing he had promised her not to do. But now she was the one kicking him out.

"Call me when you need anything," he urged her.

"I will. Now get out. I need to clean the kitchen."

He couldn't leave it at that. "I love you, honey," he said and placed a kiss on her lips and then on her belly.

"Yes, I know. That's exactly how this happened," El chuckled.

Peter grinned. "And you love me for it."

"Mmm-hm, I suppose I do. But you better get out of here before I change my mind."

On the way to the car, Peter tried to clear his head and remember to be Special Agent Burke again, ASAC of the White Collar division, not Peter Burke, who was waiting for his life to change forever. By the time he got to the prison to meet with Jones and the other agents, he had been semi-successful.

"Hey, I thought you weren't coming," Jones greeted him.

"Apparently, neither is the baby. El wanted me to stop hovering," Peter replied. He didn't mention that he had almost changed his mind three times on the way over here.

"Well, I'm glad you're here. We were just checking the security cameras," Jones said and walked with him to the security room where Peter met Agent Renner, who was officially in charge of the investigation, and Lance Maxwell, the warden of the prison.

"Problem is there's not much there. Obviously, there are no cameras in the actual showers, so we've been focusing on who was going in or out, but there are a lot of blind spots."

"Which made it the perfect spot to jump Woodford. No witnesses?" Peter asked.

Jones shook his head. "None that have come forward so far."

"Snitches get stitches," Renner chimed in.

"Lovely," Peter said.

"Could it have been one of the other Panthers? Some internal rivalry?" Jones suggested.

"No, they were out in the yard at the time. Woodford liked to shower alone when everyone else was outside," the warden explained.

Peter frowned. "Again, that's important intel if you want to kill him. But the other Panthers wouldn't have any reason to want Woodford dead. Without him, they are neither safe nor respected. Cut off the head of the snake, and there's no more reason to fear it."

Which might have been the point. The Pink Panthers were the kind of criminals who commanded respect even behind bars. Their well-known reputation could have made them a worthwhile target. Now, without Woodford, there were no more Pink Panthers.

It sounded like a good thing, but it didn't feel like it. This wasn't right. The FBI, Interpol, _Neal_... they had worked incredibly hard, risked everything, to bring in the Panthers. They had been about to spend the rest of their lives in jail. That's how it was supposed to go. But now, someone had changed the game.

It wasn't a question of whether Woodford had deserved to die. The question was why someone had thought that he did.

Peter sat down to study the security footage in greater detail, focusing on the time when Woodford's body had been discovered and all hell had broken loose. "What's that guard doing?" he asked after a while, freezing the image and pointing to the bottom right corner.

"Getting help?" Renner suggested.

"No, that's what everyone else is doing. All the other inmates and guards are running towards where Woodford was found. That guard is the only one heading away from the commotion."

"You're right," Jones agreed, sitting up in his chair.

They tried to get a better look at the guy, but all they got was the back of his head. And then they lost him entirely in the ensuing chaos and the onslaught of other guards, who had come rushing in to help and to get the situation back under control.

"There could be a dozen explanations as to what that guard was doing," Renner argued.

"But the killer knew exactly when and where to strike, and that man clearly knows all the camera angles. That's a lot of coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidences," Peter said.

Renner's brow furrowed. "What are you saying, Agent Burke?"

"I'm saying this looks like an inside job. Or, that man, whoever he is, is in fact not a guard."

Warden Maxwell looked appalled, not sure which option he liked less. He seemed to decide on the latter. "There is no way that man got in here if he wasn't a guard."

"Guess there's only one way to find out," Renner said.

He hauled in one guard after the other for questioning. It was a slow-going and time-consuming process that didn't provide them with a lot of answers. Apparently, a couple of new guards had been hired recently, so anyone who thought they might have seen an unfamiliar face didn't dare admit to it on record as to not point fingers at a colleague. They did admit, however, that they switched shifts on a regular basis, so the official duty roster was of no help. Which made figuring out who had actually been on duty as opposed to who should have been a bloody mess.

Beyond that, no one reported that they had seen anything out of the ordinary – other than the dead inmate. Without any incriminating evidence other than an unidentified man in a guard's uniform, they would have to sift through bank statements and phone records to look for any indication that someone was lying.

While Renner fumed, Peter felt a cold certainty settle in his gut. This was no coincidence. Someone had targeted the prison's weaknesses (camera blind spots, inmate routines, changes and irregularities in the duty roster) with clinical precision. And that took time and planning. And above all, motive. That's what they needed to figure out first if…

"Is there a Special Agent Burke in here?" a young man from the warden's office asked when he poked his head into the room.

"I'm Burke," Peter replied, swiveling around in his chair.

"Um, your wife called. Apparently, she tried to call you, but your phone seems to be off. She wants you to know that the baby's coming."

"What?" Peter leapt to his feet and reached for his phone. It wasn't off, but there was no reception.

When the warden saw that, he said, "Ah, yes, cell service is spotty in here, I'm afraid."

Peter wanted to ask why the hell no one had bothered to tell him that earlier, but there were more pressing matters at hand. "Is my wife still on the phone?"

"Uh, I think so..."

Peter shoved the man out of his way and ran over to the warden's office to pick up the receiver. "Hon, are you okay? What's going on? Is it time? Are you sure it's not a false alarm?" he asked breathlessly.

El sounded breathless, too, probably for a very different reason. _"Oh, yes. These are definitely real contractions. They are not going away."_

"What do you mean 'not going away'? How long have you been having contractions?"

"_About two hours, I think. I'm not sure. I thought it was Braxton Hicks."_

"But you said this wasn't happening today!" Peter reminded her. He couldn't believe El hadn't told him what was going on right away.

"_I'm flattered that you believed me, honey, but I have never done this before. So unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about!"_

Right. Oh God. This was it. Peter felt his chest tightening and his throat closing up. He broke out in a cold sweat. Which was of absolutely no help to El. He couldn't afford to panic. He needed to sort this out. Take back control. He could do that. He was trained to do that, dammit.

_Come on, Peter, think! _

"How far apart are they?" he finally managed to ask. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"_About ten minutes? They were closer together, and then they spaced out again."_ It sounded more like a question than an answer, which only freaked Peter out more. _"So no, I don't need an ambulance. I just need you to come home – and don't drive like a maniac! I need you to get here alive."_

If El's guesstimate was correct, there really was no need to go to DEFCON 1 just yet. The plan they had agreed on with Dr. Chontos was to labor at home for as long as possible. But Peter still felt uncomfortable. "I don't know, honey. Maybe you should call Mozzie and have him take you to the hospital. I can meet you there."

"_No. You said you wanted to be there. For all of it. So just get here, hon,"_ El insisted.

"I don't like the idea of you being alone..."

"_Then stop arguing with me and get off the phone!"_

Peter winced and gave in. "Okay, I'm on my way. Don't move."

El snorted. _"Should I also keep my legs closed?"_

"Can't hurt." Okay, he really needed to come up with better advice, and fast. "I love you, honey."

"_No time for that. Start driving, hon."_

Peter got off the phone and was about to head for the exit when he noticed that he didn't have his jacket on. He would have left it, except his car keys were in his jacket pocket. So he ran back to the security room and grabbed it.

"I'm leaving," he announced unnecessarily because the expression on the faces of everyone in the room said 'duh'.

"Thanks for the assist," Renner replied.

"And good luck!" Jones called.

Peter had already taken off running. As soon as he had cell reception again, he started dialing.

_Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up,_ he thought.

"_Suit! You called the baby phone! Is this a trick?"_ Mozzie finally answered.

"Why would I trick you about the baby coming?" Peter asked, panting while he stopped to remember where he had parked the car.

"_How should I know what sort of diabolical, unethical, and malicious strategies they teach wannabe suits at that supposed school of yours?"_

"Stop talking, Mozzie!" Peter interrupted him. Goddammit, where was his car? "El's in labor, and she's home alone. I'm on my way, but I'll need at least half an hour, more like an hour this time of day..."

Now it was Mozzie's turn to interrupt him. _"Say no more! And don't worry, Suit. I have successfully delivered babies before."_

"No!" Peter yelled, his heartrate skyrocketing. He forced himself to take a breath. His car was right in front of him. "You're not delivering anything," he said in a calmer manner but still making sure Mozzie heard him. "Just be with her."

"_Copy that,"_ Mozzie replied and hung up on him.

Peter got into his car and tried to mentally prepare himself for the worst and longest car ride ever.

He should have just stayed home. Who cared how or why a man like Woodford had died? Sure, he deserved justice just like everyone else. But it wasn't necessarily Peter's job to get it for him. Not when it meant that he would miss his son's birth.

No, he wouldn't miss it. El's contractions were too far apart. The baby wasn't coming yet. Unless her water broke... Peter floored the accelerator.

Then he eased up again. El had warned him not to get himself killed on the drive home. Then he would definitely miss out on seeing his son.

Why had he thought it was a good idea to leave the house in the first place? He had proved Mozzie right. He was unreliable when it came to what was most important.

Which was not this case. It wasn't justice either. Not that this had ever really been about justice. It was about Neal. Neal had died, and now Woodford was dead and...

… and Peter had no business thinking about death right now. He couldn't bring those thoughts with him into the house. Not that he believed in that kind of thing. But he figured they could use all the help they could get.

Anything, anything at all, as long as Mozzie didn't end up delivering the baby. Mozzie – of all people!

No, that wasn't fair. It was good that Mozzie was there. A good thing he was doing for El. She trusted him. She needed him while Peter was stuck in this traffic that would never end. Only to support her, though. Not to play doctor.

God, at this rate, he would never get home...

But, eventually, he did.

Peter burst through the front door and found the downstairs empty. At first, he thought that El had left for the hospital after all, but then he spotted her hospital bag, packed and ready, still sitting in the hallway.

He raced upstairs. "El?"

He found Mozzie sitting on the floor next to the bathroom door that was slightly ajar. Satchmo was lying right next to him. "She's taking a bath. It helps to relax the muscles and ease the pain of the contractions," Mozzie explained.

Peter thanked him and went inside the bathroom. He was flooded with relief when he finally found his wife looking more or less the same as when he had left her – except for the fact that she was lying in the bathtub with her eyes closed. But she was still very, very pregnant.

"I'm here, honey. I'm here," he said and bent down to kiss her.

El's eyes flew open. "Good. I'm sorry I rushed you. You didn't miss much."

"That's okay. Now let me help you get out," Peter offered.

"Oh no, I'm not getting out of this tub," El refused. "The pain is not so bad in here, actually."

After he had done everything in his power to get here as fast as he could, it baffled Peter that his wife didn't want to move. "Honey, we need to get to the hospital."

"No, we don't. I called Dr. Chontos. She says it's way too early. If we go to the hospital now, they would probably send us back home. The contractions are still up to ten minutes apart," El explained.

Peter felt some of his tension leave him. "Really? But that's what you said an hour ago."

"Believe me, hon. I know."

"Patience, Suit," Mozzie chimed in from the other side of the door. "All good things come to he who waits."

Peter wasn't sure how to proceed. He had thought that once he made it home, he would be able to do something, take charge, not simply continue to wait.

Then both El and Satchmo began to whimper. Only, in El's case it was more of a moan of pain when the next contraction came, while Satchmo was whining that he wanted to go out. He didn't seem to grasp yet what was going on. Of course not. But Peter needed to focus on his wife. He offered her his hand, and she took it.

"I'm with you, hon," he promised. "How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it's going to get," El replied with an anxious smile.

He didn't respond because Peter knew he couldn't say out loud what he was thinking. Obviously, El was the one who had to do the hard part, but the whole concept of childbirth felt just as torturous to him. He had to watch his wife suffer unimaginable pain and not do anything about it. That went against every instinct he had. Every bone in his body told him to save her. Only he couldn't. Because she was saving them. She was giving them a son.

Satchmo whined again.

"I'll take him," Mozzie offered, and they heard him get up and shuffle away with Satchmo on his heels.

Now Peter was the one who lowered himself to the floor to sit with his back against the tub, his arm resting on the rim so he could keep holding El's hand.

"So what now?" he wondered.

"Distract me," El said. "Tell me what happened at the prison. Did you figure out who killed Woodford?"

Peter sighed. "Not yet. Whoever did this was smart. They knew where the cameras were and when Woodford would be alone."

"Are there any suspects?"

"Currently, everyone who wore a guard uniform, except we don't really know who that was." Peter shook his head and told her about the mess with the duty schedule.

El smiled at him. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

Only his wife would try to cheer him up while she was the one in labor. Peter chuckled. "It's not actually my case, El. This isn't a white-collar investigation anymore."

"But they asked for your help. So what does your gut tell you?"

"That we would have to figure out the why first if we want to find out who really did this," Peter replied.

"What do you think was the motive?" El asked. "He was already in prison, and he wasn't getting out."

Peter shrugged. "Could have been revenge, which would be a long list, I suppose. Or someone trying to make a name for themselves. Staking a claim."

"To what?"

"Being better than the Pink Panthers. Or maybe being the next Pink Panthers?" It was all just guesswork at this point.

El sighed. "There's always going to be someone else waiting in the wings, isn't there? Makes you wonder why you did all this. Why Neal had to die for this."

"Stopping the Pink Panthers was not in vain, El," Peter assured her. "We brought in the most dangerous gang of thieves of our time and that still means something. They are done. Now more than ever, actually. I'm not saying it's right, but Woodford won't be making any more trouble now."

It was an ugly truth, but a little part of him was relieved that Woodford would never again be a danger to his family. "And if someone is following in their footsteps, then we'll get them, too. We as in the FBI, not me personally," he hastened to clarify.

El had a curious look on her face. "But you would want to, wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, hesitant to answer.

"Ever since you made ASAC and especially these past few months, you've been complaining a lot about all the paperwork and being cooped up in the office all day and not getting to play the game anymore because you stopped being a field agent. And I feel like I told you to do that. I'm not taking it back because, obviously, this is happening and I need you here with me," El explained, her voice momentarily gaining an edge before it softened again. "But, honey, I do want you to be happy."

Peter turned his head so he could look at her better. "Honey, I'm sitting here with my beautiful, pregnant wife, waiting for her to give us a son. Of course, I'm happy." He pressed a kiss to her wet hand. "Being out of the field, not having a CI, not having _Neal_ to handle, it just takes some getting used to," he admitted. "But I have loved coming home to you on time and not missing out on any of these wonderful moments with you."

"I'm not sure this is one of those moments," El replied, but she was smiling.

"I think it will be," Peter said.

"Because you're not the one being torn open from the inside."

Peter made a face.

"Too graphic?" El hedged.

"A little."

"Then you need to keep distracting me," El said. "We might be here for a couple more hours."

Peter tried not to look as weak as he felt at the prospect. He had only one job to do here. "Focus on what's really important, honey. This might be happening more slowly than we had hoped, but it is finally happening. We're having a baby."

El's smile turned thoughtful. "Are you scared?"

"No. Not scared." Peter shook his head. "I'm terrified."

"Me, too," El whispered. "But we'll figure it out. We always do. I learned how to live with an FBI agent. We managed to afford this house, have a dog, two demanding jobs, and still find time for us."

Peter nodded. "I would never bet against us."

"But he will have to come before all of that," El reminded him.

"I know," Peter agreed. "I heard you the first time, hon. And I promise you he will want for nothing."

El grimaced, which wasn't the reaction he had expected. "No, no, I believe you! It's just..."

"Another contraction?" Peter eagerly glanced at his watch. "Nine minutes. Keep breathing, honey."

She did, but the contractions were still not coming closer together. Instead, the water in the bathtub went cold. Peter helped her to climb out of the tub and offered her a massage, but El refused.

"I think I'll just make dinner," she decided and waddled down the stairs with Peter following close behind.

"Um, you do know that we won't be here tonight to eat dinner?" he asked.

"Yes, but we'll be glad to have something ready to heat up when we get back from the hospital. And the books said to stick to your routines."

And so they made lasagna, with El stopping to lean on Peter during every contraction and Peter taking note of the intervals.

"Your son is really taking his time," El huffed.

"I hate to break it to you, hon, but he might become an FBI agent after all," Peter smirked.

"Why?"

"Because he's obviously doing his due diligence right now. You can't fault him for not wanting to rush into this world before gathering all the facts."

El groaned. "But he's my son, too! Why can't he be more spontaneous? Take a leap of faith. Be... an artist?"

Peter snorted. "Because you can't pay the bills with that."

"Oh, and how many baseball players actually make it to the Major Leagues? Seeing as his father didn't."

"Ouch," Peter said.

El's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, hon. I didn't mean that. It's the labor pains talking."

"That's okay, honey. Let it all out. You can't be holding anything in right now. I can take it. It's the least I can do. So go ahead and hit me with it," Peter encouraged her.

"I don't want to hit you," El refused, but she was laughing a little. "Okay, our son can do something a little more substantial. He could become a scientist or... an architect."

"You realize we can't actually choose that for him?"

El shrugged. "You're right. He should do whatever makes him happy – as long as that includes going to college."

"Oh, definitely," Peter nodded. "Unless he does get drafted by a professional sports team," he added.

And El screamed.

"Honey, it was just a joke!"

El shot him a helpless look and dug her fingers into his arm, squeezing painfully.

"Ah, no more talking? If the contractions are becoming more intense, we're getting closer. That's good!" Peter smiled broadly at his wife, but she seemed unable to share his enthusiasm right now. "Uh, I mean, relatively good."

Finally, El loosened her hold on his arm, allowing the blood to flow to his fingers again.

"Five minutes," Peter informed her gently. He didn't dare say it again, but this was good. This was progress.

El managed a thin smile. She knew it, too. But the intensity of the contraction seemed to have shocked her a little.

"Okay, we can clean up the kitchen later. Let's sit. You'll need your strength, honey," Peter decided and led El over to the couch. Things were going to get rough. And that was only until they could leave for the hospital for the actual delivery.

But Peter felt a new sense of purpose. He was always better on the home stretch. Now he could keep his eyes on the ball. Pretend to have some control over a process that couldn't be controlled.

Mozzie hadn't returned yet but that didn't worry Peter. He was giving them space, and privacy, and the chance to experience their final hours as a family of two without having to worry about Satchmo. It was the most thoughtful gift he could have given them.

When El was settled on the couch, Peter got some ice and put on the playlist he had prepared. It consisted of all her favorite songs – those that made her happy anyway. Then he sat next to her and took her hands in his. "We can do this, honey. You're doing great."

The music made El's eyes come alive again. "How do you know that? How many other women have you coached through giving birth?"

"Came close once."

"What?"

"It was before I met you," Peter remembered.

"Oh, so before your life had meaning," El teased.

Peter grinned at her. "Exactly. Anyway, I got stuck in an elevator with a pregnant woman."

El stared at him, amazed that she had never heard this story. "What happened?"

"She completely panicked, and I told her that I was with the FBI and that I had everything under control. Then I pressed every goddamn button in that elevator twice and prayed to God."

"Did he hear you?"

"Well, after about half an hour of telling her to breathe in and out, they had the elevator fixed, I had calmed her down, and we went our separate ways. And about a week later I met you, so yeah, I'd say he heard me," Peter replied smoothly.

His wife smiled, which, under the circumstances, felt like quite an accomplishment. "How did you manage to calm her down?"

"I told her that they had taught us how to deliver babies at Quantico. So, worst case scenario, she was in good hands."

Now, El laughed. "And she believed you?"

"Don't I look trustworthy?" Peter asked, grinning.

El opened her mouth to say something, but the next contraction stripped her of the ability to speak. Peter encouraged her to squeeze his hands as hard as she needed to and cooled her neck and face with the ice once she let go again.

El slumped in his arms. "I don't think she actually believed that you knew how to deliver her baby, hon," she said weakly. "But I do believe that she felt safe with you."

Peter pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I got you, hon."

"I know you do."

Together, they made it through another hour of the contractions becoming increasingly regular and intense. El still did most of the work, but she did seem to appreciate all of Peter's efforts. Until it was time to get in the car and drive to the hospital.

"Do you realize that when we come back home it will never just be the two of us anymore?" Peter marveled.

He needed one hand on the steering wheel, but the other he was still holding out for El, and she squeezed it. "I do. But this house… it was never meant for two," she reminded him.

She was right. They had bought the house thinking they would have a family soon. 'Soon' had turned out to be a relative term. But now the waiting was almost over.

At the hospital, they were admitted quickly and efficiently. The nurses clearly knew what they were doing. Unlike Peter and El. Still, Peter was glad that they had waited so long to come in. Laboring in a sterile hospital room with a bunch of strangers checking in on how she was progressing seemed a lot harder for El than at home.

Of course, the contractions had really intensified. They were relentless, often overlapping, and not allowing El to catch a break.

"I can't do this, Peter. I'm too old for this," she cried out.

"Honey, we've been over this. You're not old. You're beautiful and strong, and you're going to be an amazing mom. You can do this. Remember what they said in the birthing class. Try to change position," Peter suggested.

"I can't change position because I can't move because it hurts!" El hissed, not sounding the least bit like herself. But neither one of them had ever been through something like this.

Peter knew he needed to be the one who stayed calm and rational. Which usually came natural to him. This was different, though. "I know it hurts, honey. But it will hurt less if you try a different position."

El glared at him. "Don't take this the wrong way, hon. I still love you, but I really need you to shut the hell up now, because you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about!"

"Yes, I do, because I know you," Peter insisted. "And I know you want to meet our son." Reminding her over and over again what they were doing this for seemed to work the best.

"Not fair!" El whined, but she did change position.

The scream that ripped out of her with the next contraction almost caused Peter's eardrums to burst.

He crouched in front of her. "Okay, honey, do you remember when I proposed to you? The first time."

"What?" El asked, panting, confused, and more than a little irritated.

"Do you?" Peter pressed.

"Of course, I do."

"We had just come from a hospital, too, and I had gotten really close to proposing to you right there in the waiting room, because you were crying and I just wanted to make it better," Peter told her. "You were scared that you could lose me because we weren't officially a family. Well, this is it, honey. This is what better looks like. This is us finally becoming a family."

El gritted her teeth, and her next scream was filled with a little less blinding pain and more determination. Or so Peter told himself.

Still, they were both pleasantly surprised when Dr. Chontos walked into the room. "I was here for a consult when I heard that you two had come in," she explained. "I can assure you that you're in excellent hands either way, but would you like me to deliver your baby?"

El was too wiped out to speak so it was Peter who said, "Yes, of course. Please tell us that he's ready to come out."

Dr. Chontos smiled and examined El. "Everything looks good. You're still transitioning, but you're almost fully dilated, which means you can start pushing soon. I know that doesn't sound like a reward, but, believe me, it will be. So get ready to say hello to your son."

Peter believed in always being prepared, but nothing in the whole world could have possibly prepared him for what came next. It was the most painful, nauseatingly messy, terrifying, and single most awe-inspiring, humbling, and moving experience in his life.

How El did it was magnificent and, quite honestly, beyond Peter's understanding. She was completely exposed and exhausted and pushed to her very limit (quite literally). But she kept fighting with every ounce of her being, listening to the doctor's instructions to avoid tearing, and looking up at Peter, pleading for help when she faltered. All he could give her was the assurance that he had never ever been more proud of her and more in love with anyone.

And then he saw his son crowning. It was like everything inside of him shifted, everything he believed in, everything he thought he knew, his tether to the life he had lived was cut and formed anew, reattached to that little baby struggling to come into the world.

He could only tear his eyes away to bend down and rest his forehead against his wife's. "I can see him, El. Our son. And you can see him, too. Just a little longer. Just one more. And he'll be ours."

El's eyes clouded over for a moment. Then they narrowed, and her sweaty grip on Peter's hand tightened one more time.

And then, suddenly, their son was there, and he was screaming.

Dr. Chontos asked Peter if he would like to cut the umbilical cord, and yes, of course, he did. He had prepared for this, though now that it was actually happening, he was afraid it might hurt the baby.

It didn't, of course, and it only took seconds. Then Dr. Chontos immediately placed the baby, red and still covered in vernix, on El's belly.

El's eyes were wide, and her arms were shaking, from exhaustion or emotion or both, when she reached out to hold her son to her. The skin-to-skin contact calmed him down and he stopped crying. Peter crouched down next to both of them, and when El managed to meet his gaze, he saw the same feelings reflected in her eyes that he knew were also written in his.

Pure wonder, infinite joy, and love, a love so fierce he had never thought it possible.

The nurses began to dry off their son, covered him with a towel, and gave him a cap to keep his head warm. Then they checked his heartrate and his breathing, but they did all this as the baby kept resting on El's chest. Which was good because she didn't look like she would have given him up again.

In truth, neither Peter nor El noticed what the doctors were doing. They were too busy gazing at their son. The absence of tension in the room told them that nothing was wrong, and so they were left to enjoy these first, blissful moments as a family of three. After a few minutes their newborn son even began to make awkward, inexperienced little movements that helped him to find El's breast and latch on so she could nurse him with a little assist from Dr. Chontos.

Eventually, El got cleaned up, and she asked Peter to take the baby. He was hesitant at first to take him away from her, but then he couldn't resist holding him for the first time.

"Hey there, little man. You're probably wondering what you're doing with me. I'm sure you want to get back to your mommy. I understand that. Believe me, I do. But I just want you to know... I'll always be right here."

The baby yawned. Peter decided not to take it personally. If being pushed out into the world was even half as exhausting as doing the pushing, he could understand. He wasn't surprised that both El and the baby were half-asleep by the time they were moved to the recovery room, their son resting in his mother's arms again.

Peter would have been perfectly fine just sitting there, looking at his wife and son. But then El opened her eyes.

"Hey, hon," Peter said tenderly, leaning in closer. "How are you feeling?"

"Better and worse than I could possibly imagine," she replied. "What about you? How's the hand?"

"I am… in awe of you, El," he told her. "It's always been you. From the moment you walked up to me in the DeArmitt Gallery, I knew it was you. And now you have given us a son."

El smiled down on the baby, her pride shining brighter than her exhaustion. "He really is perfect, isn't he?"

"He is beautiful. Just like his mother," Peter said.

El lifted her eyes to his. "He needs a name."

"He does," Peter agreed. "So, are we thinking he looks more like an Alexander or a Mateo?"

"How about Neal?" El said softly.

Peter's smile dimmed a little in surprise. These past couple of hours had been the first time he hadn't once thought about losing Neal. Because the birth of their son was the opposite of that. It was new life. A new beginning for their family. Finally, time to heal because they couldn't possibly be filled with anything other than happiness. The chance to move on and yet never forget. Peter couldn't think of a better way to do just that.

"I love it. I love _you_," he said, smiling broadly at his wife and leaning in to give her a gentle kiss.

El mirrored his smile. "I love you, too, honey."

"Good. I was a little worried you might have changed your mind after all this."

"Of course not. Neal and I would have never made it through today without you," El said, her voice catching.

There were no words to describe how it made Peter feel to hear her call their son by his name for the first time. "You do know we're asking for trouble with that name, don't you?"

"Maybe. But would you really have it any other way?"

A grin spread across Peter's face. "Nope."

They spent a couple more minutes admiring the newest member of the Burke family. Peter quickly discovered that time lost all meaning as long as he could watch his son breathe. But eventually he remembered that his job wasn't done yet. El needed time to recover and not worry about a thing. So Peter headed out to the cafeteria to get her something to eat and drink for when she felt like she could keep it down. And then he got to the business of making calls, letting his dad, his in-laws, and everyone else of importance know that Neal Burke was healthy and excited to meet them – although probably not as excited as they were to meet him.

When Peter returned to the room, he found Mozzie standing next to a sleeping El and Neal.

"Shh, they are asleep. Sleep is of vital importance for newborn babies. It's when their young pliable minds are developing," Mozzie informed him.

Peter smiled and joined Mozzie. "Good to know." He hadn't been gone long, but he was eager to see his son again.

"I'm counting ten fingers, ten toes, and a nose," Mozzie observed. "You did good, Suit."

"Thank you," Peter said. "For saying that and for your help today."

"Thank you for calling me," Mozzie replied with a nod.

"I was hoping El would still be awake so you could meet the baby properly."

Mozzie shrugged. "That's all right. Her rest is very well deserved."

That was an understatement if there ever was one, but Peter nodded and they relapsed into silence.

"So, what can we expect from him?" Mozzie asked eventually. When he saw the confusion on Peter's face, he clarified, "What name did you give him?"

"His name," Peter said, pausing for a moment, "is Neal."

"Oh." Mozzie wasn't always easy to read. Most of the time he was a mystery to Peter. A mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a crazy person. But in this moment, he was entirely unguarded and didn't bother to hide the surprise on his face. A surprise that morphed into grief but also affection. "So, great things then," he said softly.

"I hope so," Peter agreed.

Very carefully, Mozzie reached out to touch the baby's tiny fingers. "And so, we have come full circle. Life goes on, and you can either keep up or get left behind."

"You're not getting left behind, Mozzie," Peter said, and even though he had never been able to connect with him the way El had, he really meant that.

"That is very kind of you to say, Suit, but none of your concern right now. You have a truly wondrous time ahead of you. You should make sure to enjoy it."

"I will," Peter promised.

Mozzie nodded. "And tell El congratulations for me."

"You can tell her yourself when you come by the house," Peter said.

"I don't think so. This is your Neal. My Neal has gone to sleep more permanently. Anyway, try not to turn him into a baby suit too soon. If he lives up to his namesake, he will be too smart for his own good sometimes, but he will need the freedom to figure it out on his own. Let him be free. And whatever you do, do not lose him!"

"Never." He was a little worried about Mozzie's emotional state but that was the only answer Peter could give him.

"Good. Now I need to leave. Hospitals bring back bad memories of being shot or poisoned – and Napoleon for some reason."

With that strange little comment, Mozzie was gone.

When Peter turned back around from watching him exit, he saw that the baby was stirring. His movements were still fairly limited and a little jerky. Quickly, Peter scooped up the infant, hoping to soothe him before he could start to cry and wake his mother.

"Hey, did Mozzie wake you?" He talked softly to his son as he gently rocked him in his arms. He was so small and light, and still Peter had this irrational fear of dropping him. "I know he looks a little strange, but he's all right. Your mommy likes him a lot." Peter paused. Then he corrected himself. "He's a very good friend. You can trust him. Well, most of the time. But for you, I'm sure he'd make an exception."

The baby's eyes began to close again. "That's right. Go back to sleep, son. I heard it's good for you. And we want the best for you, don't we, Neal? Because you're very special to a lot of people. You always have been."

Whether he had even an inkling of how loved he was or not, Neal seemed to feel safe enough in his father's arms and drifted off to sleep.

Peter smiled.

And stood watch over him.

So he could be there when his son needed him again.


	4. Growing Pains

**A/N: Honestly, I don't know how these chapters always get so long. Also, thanks for the birthday wishes and reviews! Here we go with chapter four. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

Peter was walking in circles in the living room when a knock on the front door interrupted him. They had muted the doorbell so no one would accidentally wake the baby. So far, they had gotten lucky. Little Neal was a fairly good sleeper. He loved to cuddle. The best way to get him to sleep was to snuggle with him. The bodily contact with mommy or daddy usually did the trick. Getting him to fall asleep in his crib was a different story. But they were currently picking their battles.

That's why Peter was carrying Neal strapped to his chest in a sling. Neal seemed to love it, and the truth of the matter was, Peter loved it even more. His time at home with El and the baby before he had to go back to work was limited. So he tried to make the most of it when it came to bonding with Neal and helping out El. She was still recovering from delivery, so carrying the baby around the house all day in between the constant breastfeeding, burping, and diaper changing wasn't an option. She was more than happy to leave that to Peter, and she had taken at least a gazillion pictures of them already.

With Neal snoozing peacefully, Peter went to open the door and let his two favorite agents into the house.

"Hey, is this a bad time?" Jones asked. He seemed to assume that any time was a bad time now.

There was some truth to that. They tried to follow the rule that said to sleep when the baby slept. But at the moment El was sitting on the couch, folding laundry. The dirty laundry had begun to pile up dangerously high, and if they didn't get on top of that now, they would probably lose that battle for good. Bodily fluids of every kind seemed to get on everything these days – mostly from the baby, but not exclusively. Yesterday Peter had fallen asleep for a few seconds as soon as he had sat down to eat and he had spilt a giant spoonful of tomato soup on his shirt.

"No, it's fine. Come on in!" he said.

Diana immediately came closer to get a better look at the baby strapped to Peter's chest. "That's a good look on you, boss," she said. "You should bring him to work like that."

Peter laughed. "I might just do that."

"Um, no, you won't," El chimed in when they joined her in the living room.

"Think about it, honey. Where could he possibly be safer than in a building full of FBI agents?" Peter tried to sell her on the idea.

El didn't look convinced, and Diana deftly changed the subject. "Hello, Elizabeth. Congratulations again. He's a beautiful baby boy," she said while she gave her a gentle hug.

"Thank you. And sorry about the mess in here," El replied.

"Oh, please, you should have seen my place! This is nothing," Diana assured her.

"But speaking of which, we have a gift for you. It's from everyone at the office," Jones said and set down a fairly large package.

Peter sat next to El while she unwrapped it. They shared an amused look. It was a robot vacuum cleaner.

Diana rolled her eyes. "The guys came up with that one."

"Yeah, 'cause you'll have your hands full with the little guy, and now you have one less thing to worry about," Jones explained.

"I wonder what Satchmo will think of this," El said.

When he heard his name, the Labrador got up from where he had been sleeping and padded over to them.

"Look at that, Satch! Mommy and Daddy got a new toy. It's not actually for you, I'm afraid," El told him.

Satchmo sniffed at the package, and since it didn't move or do anything else that was of interest to him, he turned his attention to Peter.

"Would you like to say hi to Neal?" he asked and shifted to the side so Satchmo could rest his head on Peter's arm and look at the baby.

Satchmo wagged his tail. When they had first come home from the hospital, he had been a little confused. Clearly, he associated the name Neal with someone else. And when the baby had started to cry, the old Labrador had looked at them as if to say 'Are you sure about this thing?'. But since then Satchmo had begun to understand that this Neal was part of the family, too, now and deserving of his love.

"He seems to be doing fine with the baby in the house," Jones commented.

"He's been great. But it's a good thing that he's sleeping a lot these days, because we really don't have enough time for him right now. Which doesn't mean that we love you any less. Isn't that right, Satch?" El reached out to give him a cuddle. "Anyway, thanks for the gift. It's very thoughtful," she said to Jones and Diana.

"I love it," Peter agreed. They were already behind on the laundry. He didn't even want to think about cleaning the house.

"Told you he would," Jones said to Diana.

"Yeah, okay, you were right." She shrugged her shoulders. "Now, how are you two really doing?"

"It's... exhausting," El admitted. "I have no idea how you did this on your own. I'm so glad Peter is home. Being together as a family has been wonderful." She rested a hand on his knee, and he smiled at her.

Diana nodded. "I could have used someone like Peter sometimes. But you figure it out. It's one of the first things I learned. You will do whatever you need to do for your kid. Doesn't matter what it is. And I know you're tired right now, but it really is true what everyone says. They grow up so fast."

"Yeah, you'll have to watch out when little Neal here learns to grab things," Jones joked, even though it wasn't particularly funny. Perhaps that's why he added, "Anyway, I've been meaning to tell you that they found the murder weapon that was used to kill Woodford in prison."

"Smooth, Jones, real smooth," Diana said.

"And you're wondering why I don't want you to take Neal to work with you. That's hardly appropriate conversation around a baby," El complained.

Peter looked at his son. "But he's asleep, honey. He can't hear us."

"Fine, but make it fast. He'll be waking up soon," El warned.

"Where did they find it?" Peter asked, giving Jones a nod that it was safe to continue.

"Somebody threw it in the trash. It was a sharpened toothbrush, and they confirmed the blood on it to be Woodford's."

"That seems awfully convenient."

"It gets better," Jones told him. "They found fingerprints, too. From the guy sitting in the cell across from Woodford, who is already serving two consecutive life sentences and is a known member of another prison gang."

"Did he confess?"

"Nope, but he was in the showers before the body was found."

It sounded like an open-and-shut case. Except for that possibly fake prison guard at the crime scene.

Jones seemed to read his mind. "I can keep looking into the other guards. See if anything pops."

Peter furrowed his brow in thought. He felt Neal begin to stir. El had been right. He was waking up. "No, I'm not getting into a pissing match with Renner and Maxwell over this. If they say the case is closed, then that's what it is."

"All right. So that's how it's going to be from now on?" Jones asked.

"Yup, turning over a new leaf. Life is too short, Jones, and there are more important things than work." Neal's movements became more insistent and he started to fuss. "I think you were right, hon," Peter said to his wife.

El was smiling at both of them. "I know. He's hungry. I'll take him upstairs."

Peter decided not to ask how she had known that because he had a feeling that Jones would feel uncomfortable with hearing the answer. He gently lifted Neal out of the sling and handed him over to El, always remembering to support the neck. At first, Peter had been stressing out about that quite a bit, but with every day that passed, handling the baby became more second nature to him.

El on the other hand had always looked like a pro. "Hello, my darling. Oh, I know. Someone is really hungry. But mommy's got you..."

It was clear that Neal knew El's voice the best. He was learning quickly that hearing his mother's voice meant that she was going to make things better. And so El managed to soothe him while she carried him up to the nursery.

"Well, we need to get back. Somebody has to run the office while you're out," Diana said. She probably remembered that the patience for visitors was limited in those early days.

"Right, which would be the agent who has seniority," Jones pointed out.

"Then get your senior ass out of that chair!"

Peter laughed. "Be nice, you two. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"The new you or the old you?" Jones asked while he made his way to the door.

"I'm sure as the senior agent you'll be able to figure that out," Diana teased and pushed him outside. "Say goodbye to Elizabeth for us, and tell her to call me if she needs to talk about women stuff."

"Will do."

Peter waved goodbye to his team and went back inside the living room. He was about to grab some of the freshly folded laundry and bring it upstairs when his phone informed him that he had an incoming Facetime request from Sara Ellis. He would have been surprised, but he had a pretty good idea what this was about.

"Hello, Sara."

"_Peter, hi! I'm so glad I caught you. I just got in from work. I hope I didn't wake the baby, but I figured you would be smart enough to silence your phone,"_ the redhead greeted him.

Peter chuckled. "Don't worry. You didn't wake anyone."

"_Great. Then can I see him?"_ Sara asked eagerly, trying to look past Peter as if the baby might be hiding somewhere behind him.

"Now isn't a good time. El is just nursing him," Peter told her.

"_That's all right. I have seen breasts before. I have a pair of my own, actually. But you know that. You've touched them before."_

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"_You know, when we took those pictures, pretending to have an affair,"_ Sara reminded him.

"I thought we agreed never to speak of that ever again," Peter muttered.

Sara made a face. _"Gee, thanks. I didn't realize it was that traumatizing to make out with me."_

"My wife was watching, Sara – my happily married, very loving wife," Peter now reminded her.

"_That wasn't my fault!" _Sara defended herself.

"It wasn't my fault either."

"_Then whose fault was it?"_

"Neal," they said at the exact same time.

They were both quiet for a moment, a sad smile on both of their lips.

"_Okay, just let me see the baby, and I'll shut up. I promise,"_ Sara said eventually.

"I'll ask El," Peter agreed and carried the phone upstairs with him. "Honey, I have Sara on the phone. She's asking if she can see you and the baby." He tried to tell El that Sara was not taking no for an answer without actually saying that out loud, but there was no need.

El was sitting comfortably in the beanbag chair with Neal latched on to her right breast. He usually took his time being fed. Sometimes he would even fall asleep. But at the moment he still looked completely on task. And El smiled when she looked up.

"Of course, bring her over here," she said, and Peter stepped inside the nursery to bring his phone screen closer and hold it up to El's face. "Hi, Sara. It's very nice of you to call."

"_Elizabeth, wow, you look amazing!"_ Sara gushed.

El rolled her eyes. "No, I don't. But thank you for saying that."

"_I'm serious. Everybody always talks about that special glow when you're pregnant, but I think you're glowing more now that you're a mom,"_ Sara insisted. _"Am I right or am I right, Peter?"_

"That's the most sense you have made all day," Peter agreed with her.

El shook her head, but her eyes twinkled. "Okay, honey, turn the phone. She doesn't actually want to see me."

Sara's protest that of course she wanted to see El was interrupted by her own squeal of sheer delight when Peter followed his wife's instructions and turned the phone so Sara could finally see the baby. _"Guys, he's absolutely gorgeous!" _

This time, no one disagreed with her.

"_And you really named him Neal?"_ Sara asked softly.

"Yes, I hope that's all right with you," El replied, even though Peter didn't know why they would have needed Sara's permission.

"_I think it's beautiful,"_ she said, heaving a sigh. _"And Neal, I really hope I get to meet you in person one day."_

"Of course, you will. Preferably when everything is a little less messy," El said.

Sara laughed. _"If what you're having is a mess, then I don't know why I ever bothered to clean up my life."_

Peter and El smiled at each other. They were both tired, in need of a shower or a decent meal, and overwhelmed by an increasing number of chores that needed doing, but neither one of them would have changed a thing.

* * *

There was one thing that had always been true about Special Agent Peter Burke, be that as a junior agent, a supervisory agent, or as ASAC.

He loved his job.

Until today.

It was Peter's first day back at work. He hadn't expected any nasty surprises. He knew that Jones and Diana and all his other agents could handle themselves without him. The New York White Collar division was running as smoothly as ever.

With the exception of the stack of files on his desk. That had gotten higher rather than smaller in his absence. And Peter already dreaded going through them all.

He tried to put his best foot forward. He gathered everyone in the office to thank them for their well-wishes for El and the baby as well as for the gift and commended them on their hard work and commitment. He listened to all the briefings on their current cases and voiced his thoughts and pledged his support. In the end, he told everyone to keep doing exactly what they had been doing because none of these cases actually needed his supervision.

And Peter did all that to hide the fact that he was texting with El the entire time. Well, mostly, he was texting her. Her enthusiasm for texting him back was rapidly declining. It was understandable. She had a baby and a dog and a house to take care of. She didn't have time to send him a play-by-play. All Peter was asking for were a couple of pictures so he wouldn't miss out on anything.

Like, every five minutes.

Their conversation went something like this.

Peter: _How r u doing? Everything ok?_

El:_ Neal & I are just fine. Did u get to work ok?_

Peter:_ Yup. Miss you already._

El:_ We miss you too. Neal says hi. _

Peter:_ Tell him I love him._

[…]

Peter:_ Did you tell him?_

El: 👍

[…]

Peter: _Did he have breakfast yet?_

El: _Not sure u can call it breakfast. Nursed him 4 times last night._

Peter: _Guess he was hungry._

El:_ All the time. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn't get enough milk._

Peter: _Do you want to ask his doctor?_

Peter:_ El?_

Peter:_ You ok?_

Peter: _Do u need me to come home?_

[…]

El:_ Sorry. Took Neal and Satch on a walk. Everything's fine. Don't worry._

Peter: _Good. Was Neal warm enough?_

El:_ Don't u have work, hon?_

Peter: _I'm multi-tasking._

El: _You hate multi-tasking._

Peter: _Not anymore. I'm a dad now._

El: 😭

Peter:_ What? What's wrong?_

[…]

El:_ Sorry, wrong emoji. _😂

Peter:_ Don't scare me like that, hon._

[…]

Peter:_ What are you doing now?_

El: _Trying to take care of my son while answering incessant texts from my husband._

Peter:_ Sorry._

Peter:_ I hate not being there._

El: _I know, hon. _

Peter:_ I'll stop now._

[…]

Peter:_ Don't forget about tummy time._

El:_ ..._

[…]

Peter: _Did he smile again?_

[…]

Peter:_ Did you take pictures?_

[…]

Peter:_ I love you._

Peter knew he was only making things more difficult for El, who was already doing it all on her own. But it was impossible to concentrate on surveillance requests and after-action reports when he felt like his heart had gone walking outside of his body, well, not so much walking yet as being carried. He had no idea what he was going to do when they got to the walking stage.

For now, what he did was to take a long lunch, get in his car, and drive back home. When he entered the house, he found Neal lying on his play blanket with a bunch of toys scattered around him. But he was currently focused on the book that El, who was lying on her back next to him, was holding up for him to see.

Now her eyes travelled from the book to her husband. "Honey! What are you doing home? I told you we're fine. I just left the phone lying around somewhere."

"I'm not checking up on you," Peter hastened to explain. "I just missed you terribly. Please don't kick me out again."

El's eyes sparkled with laughter and she nodded for him to come over there.

Peter laid down on his back on Neal's other side. "What are we reading?" he asked Neal.

His son looked at him wide-eyed.

"We're learning about all the different animals," El answered for him. "Isn't that right, Neal?"

"Oh, that's a good book," Peter said.

El nodded. "Yes, it is. And what is this? Is that a doggy? Like our Satchmo? What does the doggy say?"

Neal tried to reach for the book with his little fingers and turned his head from El to Peter.

"I think he wants you to help him out, hon," El said.

"Mhm, I think the dog goes woof. Woof, woof, woof," Peter echoed and gently tickled his son with every 'woof' he made.

El joined in, and then Satchmo gave a short, slightly confused bark.

That's when Neal burst out laughing. A sound so pure and full of joy it almost brought tears to Peter's eyes.

He met El's gaze over their son's head, who was still squealing with delight, and her own smile was just as bright and beautiful. Peter had to shift onto his side so he could lean over and kiss her.

They spent the rest of his lunch hour reading to Neal and making more animal sounds, trying to get him to laugh as much as possible. Ever since he had surprised them with his first smile, they couldn't get enough of it, and Neal happily obliged. Unfortunately, that also made it hard to leave. Peter knew there were many more 'firsts' to come, and he hated the thought that he was bound to miss some of them.

"I'll find my phone and send you more pictures," El promised when they were standing in the hallway.

Peter was holding Neal, stalling, but their play session had worn him out and he needed to be put down for his nap anyway. "Are you sure you're doing okay, hon?" he asked. Barely having slept last night and providing around-the-clock care for a baby and a dog, he had no idea how El even worked up the energy to smile.

"I'm fine. And Mom and Dad are flying in the day after tomorrow. I think I'll survive until then."

"Right." Peter had almost forgotten about that. He was glad that El would have some help for a couple of days, but as far as finding their way back to something resembling normalcy was concerned, having his in-laws in the house wasn't what he had in mind.

El laughed, reading his mind with ease. "Look at it this way, hon. With my father staying with us, I'm sure you'll have a much easier time leaving for work."

"Never thought I would need that kind of incentive," Peter chuckled.

"It will get better. Now, if Neal takes his nap like the good boy that he is," El said while she took the baby from Peter, "how about I make us a nice, actual, home-cooked dinner to celebrate your first day back? You can have a beer and tell me all about it. All you need to do is to be home by seven."

"Sounds great. I love you, hon." Peter kissed his wife goodbye and finally made himself leave.

When he was back behind his desk, he got a picture of a sleeping Neal and an 'I love you, too' from El. Peter smiled and decided to get through at least half of the files on his desk before six.

At around four Jones burst into his office. "Just got a call from NYPD. There was a theft at an art gallery downtown."

"Which gallery?" Peter asked.

"The DeArmitt Gallery."

Peter stopped writing and stared at Jones. "That's where Elizabeth used to work."

"Thought that might interest you," Jones nodded. "And the owner remembers you, too. Asked for you in person."

Peter looked from the stack of files in front of him to his agent. Then a grin spread across his face. "I'll drive."

"I was hoping you would say that."

They got into his BMW and drove to the DeArmitt Gallery. Peter hadn't been here in years. But walking into the lobby took him right back. He almost expected to turn around and see El walk up to him – well, a seventeen years younger version of his wife. Not that it mattered. She was still every bit as beautiful. And just like that, Peter remembered why he loved his job.

He had to wipe a stupid grin off his face when the actual manager came to talk to them. "Could you show us what was stolen?" Peter asked her.

They headed for the postmodern exhibit, and the manager showed them a picture of the missing piece of art. It looked like someone had tried to build a coatrack using plastic straws coated with gold. Apparently, it was worth 750,000 dollars, and now all that was left of it was the empty pedestal.

Almost empty. In place of the valuable work of art now stood a miniature statue of Lady Liberty, available for purchase all over the city.

"Was that there before?" Peter asked the manager.

"No, definitely not."

"Maybe it's a joke or a play on words?" Jones suggested. "They liberated this piece of art by stealing it?"

Peter frowned. Seemed like a strange calling card. Then again, he had seen weirder.

"Were there any witnesses?" he asked.

The manager shook her head. "We had a bit of an incident in the expressionism exhibit at the time."

"What kind of incident?"

"Two visitors started a debate about one of the paintings that got physical. They knocked over a watercooler and triggered an alarm."

"Causing the security guards to respond?" Peter guessed.

"Yes, and we needed to make sure that the water didn't do any damage," the manager confirmed.

Peter and Jones exchanged a look. "The perfect distraction from the actual target."

The manager sighed. "It would appear so, yes."

"Have you pulled the security footage yet?"

"Yes, it's back in the office."

"We'll need that as well as this little statue here for evidence," Peter told her. "And what happened with the two visitors who got into that fight? Are they in police custody?"

"No, we wanted to hold them in case we needed to press charges, but then the actual theft was discovered..." The manager gave a helpless shrug.

"And they were free to slip away," Peter finished her sentence for her. "Did you get their names?"

The manager looked relieved that she could give them something at least. "Yes, I photocopied their driver's licenses."

"Might be fake," Jones warned.

"Still worth a look. We'll be in touch," Peter told the manager.

The last case he had investigated at the DeArmitt Gallery had changed his life forever. He couldn't help but wonder what this one would bring. He had never thought he would find out. The odds of this happening twice in a city like New York seemed infinitesimally small.

Nevertheless, the security footage told the story of a carefully planned and perfectly executed heist. The two men in the expressionism exhibit got into a fight, just like the manager had said, and when the entire staff responded to that crisis, a third man, dressed like a janitor, entered the postmodern exhibit and quickly disassembled the 750,000-dollar art piece and stuffed it into a non-descript box, which he dropped at the delivery entrance among similar boxes. All of them were loaded into a delivery truck by a bored delivery man who had just finished a delivery to the gallery's in-house café and then drove off.

They got in touch with the delivery company. The truck was back at the lot, but the box had disappeared by the time they got there to check it out. The old cameras at the lot didn't actually record anything, and the truck driver insisted that he always picked up empty boxes and that he hadn't noticed one of them being different. He had worked for the company for years and nothing in his background popped. The two driver's licenses on the other hand turned out to be fake, just like Jones had said, and the janitor on the security footage from the gallery wasn't actually the gallery's janitor. But they couldn't tell who he was because he wore a cap that covered his face at all times.

And that's when they ran out of leads.

"Let's put out a BOLO for the two guys who provided the distraction. We can't prove definitively that they were involved, but I would like to talk to them anyway," Peter said.

"Maybe we could ask Mozzie if he hears anything in case they try to fence that thing," Diana suggested.

Peter sighed. It felt strange to do this without Neal.

"Or we could simply arrest whomever you arrested last time," Jones joked to lighten the mood.

"That was a sloppy inside job. These guys knew what they were doing," Peter said. "But maybe we'll get a fingerprint of that Statue of Liberty when the lab's done with it. I have a special kind of luck when it comes to the DeArmitt Gallery."

Diana turned off the screen at the head of the conference table. "Think we can call it a night then, boss? My sitter already stayed three hours longer than she should have. I can't lose another one."

Peter glanced at his watch and made a face. This had almost felt like old times. A little too much so. First day back and he had missed dinner again. El was going to kill him.

Diana laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a weak nod.

On his way home, he wondered why this kept happening to him. Apparently, you could take the agent out of the field and make him ASAC, but it took a lot longer to take the field agent out of the ASAC. Or maybe it had something to do with the DeArmitt Gallery. He still couldn't get over the strangeness of working that case again.

At the house, the only one who greeted him was Satchmo. When he went upstairs, he found both El and Neal in bed. It looked like they had fallen asleep after she had finished nursing him. Peter smiled at the sight of them. But they wanted Neal to get used to sleeping in his own bed. So Peter picked him up very carefully and carried him over to the nursery. He wondered if this was what it felt like to carry an explosive device. Thankfully, Neal didn't wake, and Peter exhaled.

El stirred when he finally slipped into bed next to her.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked.

"For missing dinner."

"I didn't make dinner. I was too tired," El mumbled, hugging her pillow.

Peter laughed softly, not sure if he should be relieved that she wasn't upset or feel worse because he had left his wife alone all evening and now she hadn't even managed to eat.

"But you can tell me about your case now," El offered, her eyes now open and a little clearer.

"How do you know we caught a case?" Peter asked.

El smirked. "Because you're making your 'I feel guilty because an important case made me miss dinner again' face."

"Ah, but you didn't make dinner," Peter reminded her.

"You're lucky I didn't," El countered.

Peter grinned. "You will never guess where I was today, El," he told her. "There was another theft... at the DeArmitt Gallery."

Finally, El sat up. "What? What did they take?"

"Some strange modern piece worth 750,000 dollars."

"Did you recover it?"

Peter snorted.

"Why is that so funny?" El asked.

"Because we're not even close yet," Peter said. "These guys are good."

El rested a hand on his chest. "You are better."

"Maybe not. I haven't worked a case like this without Neal in years," Peter admitted.

"You and Neal were a great team. But he was never the reason why you are such a good FBI agent. That was always you, hon," El reminded him. "And as I recall, you solved the last case at that gallery all on your own."

Peter pressed a kiss to her hand. "Well, I had ample motivation then."

"And now I'm not enough anymore?"

"Now, you are my reason for everything," he said simply.

El smiled and cupped his cheek.

Their little moment was cut short when Neal began to cry in the next room.

"I'll get him," Peter said.

He had to make up for today and he had some thinking to do.

* * *

"Do you remember what we're going to do today, Neal? We're going on a trip. Yes! I think that's pretty exciting, too," Peter said while he secured the car seat. "And do you know who we're going to visit?"

"Ah-goo!" Neal babbled.

"Close," said Peter. "We're going to visit your grandpa. Can you say grandpa, Neal?"

"Honey, he's still months away from saying mama," El reminded him after she had put their bags in the trunk.

"Unless he says daddy first," Peter argued.

El gave him a smile that made it perfectly clear that she was only humoring him. "Sure, hon. Now let's go. I want to get on the road before it gets too busy."

Peter's dad had offered to come and visit them so they wouldn't have to pack the baby and all the stuff that came with it into the car. But they had chosen to do so. Neal was now sleeping a little better and crying a little less, which gave them some room to breathe. A trip upstate had suddenly seemed less daunting. And El had wanted out. Out of the house, out of the city, out of her everyday routine, and she wanted Neal to see something new. It would be good for him.

It would be good for all of them. Peter still hadn't made an arrest in the DeArmitt Gallery case. They had managed to pick up the two guys who had caused the distraction. But they had insisted that they had nothing to do with the theft, and other than those fake driver's licenses the FBI didn't have anything on them, certainly not enough to hold them for long. Their best bet was to wait for them to fence the stolen art. And Peter could wait just as well at his dad's.

Robert Burke was eagerly awaiting them when they pulled into the driveway of the Burke family home. Peter wanted to tease his dad that he had never been this anxious to welcome them before, but then again, he had no idea what it felt like to become a grandfather. He was still getting used to being a dad.

"Out of my way, son. Of you I have seen plenty," his father said to Peter and rounded the car to get to where El was taking out the baby. "Elizabeth, I'm sure you're aware that you look as lovely as ever," he told her, which was a lot nicer than the greeting Peter had been given. "And there is my one and only grandson!"

"I don't think you want to hold him just now. He really needs his diaper changed first," El warned.

"Nonsense. I changed his father's diapers, I can change his, too. I'm sure the general principle hasn't changed. I'll take care of it."

"Um..." El handed him the diaper bag. Robert slung it over his shoulder, took the baby, and disappeared into the house. El looked from his retreating form to Peter. "Did he just steal our child?"

Peter laughed. "Well, if we need to file a missing persons, we'll have plenty of pictures to choose from."

They headed inside, bringing the rest of their bags.

"Oh dear, I wasn't aware you were going to move in here," Cecile greeted them.

She and Robert had gotten married a couple years back. Even as a grown man Peter had needed some time to get used to the idea of his father remarrying. But it would have been unfair to ask him to be alone for the rest of his life after losing his wife and Peter's mom way too soon. Robert and Cecile made each other happy, and that was really all that mattered.

"We apologize in advance for taking over your home," El said.

"No need. Robert has been looking forward to this visit since you agreed to come."

"Could have fooled me," Peter said. "Considering the way he greeted the two of us."

El shrugged. "Speak for yourself, hon. He told me I looked lovely."

"That's because you always look lovely," Peter replied.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or if you're saying that's old news."

"It's the truth."

Cecile laughed. "Oh, listen to you two! Didn't I tell you that you would make beautiful babies? Well, just the one for now, but you never know, right?"

"I think we're good with the one we have," El said.

Robert joined them with a happy Neal in his arms. Apparently, he was already done with the diaper change. "Of course, you are. You've got one very special kid here."

Cecile turned towards him. "My turn," she said.

Neal went from Robert's arms to Cecile's, and Robert used that opportunity to give his son and daughter-in-law proper hugs. "Sorry about earlier. I never thought I would get to be a grandfather after all." Since Peter was an only child and Cecile didn't have any children, his chances hadn't looked good before El's unexpected pregnancy.

"Don't worry. We know the feeling, Dad," Peter assured him.

His father nodded. "Let's get you settled in."

After the long drive, Peter and El were eager to stretch their legs. So they put Neal in the stroller and took a nice long walk together. Peter loved coming out here. They needed to do this more often, he decided, so Neal could enjoy the fresh air. And when he was old enough, Peter couldn't wait to teach him how to throw a ball in the back yard, just like his dad had once taught him. Actually, being with his dad reminded Peter of a lot of things he wanted to do with Neal as well. Now that Peter was a father, too, he saw everything his dad had done in a whole new light.

"How did you do it, Dad?" Peter asked.

They had returned to the house, and now he and Robert were sitting in the living room while El and Cecile were out in the garden. Peter had put Neal on his play blanket and laid him on his tummy so he would practice lifting his head. He could do that with ease now, but he liked to roll over onto his back so he didn't have to.

"How did I do what?" Robert asked.

"Raise me right," Peter explained.

His dad laughed as he watched Peter turn Neal back onto his tummy. "Doesn't look like you're doing anything wrong."

"That's because this is easy. I mean, not when it comes to the sleep deprivation or the smells and chaos involved in diaper changing and cleaning up all kinds of other messes. But he's not exactly mobile yet." Lovingly, Peter ran a finger over the soft hair on his son's head.

"I'm worried that when that time comes, he won't listen to a word I say because he thinks that he knows better. That he'll refuse to stay put and always do the exact opposite of what I tell him to do. And that whenever I turn my back on him for even a second, he will already be gone."

Robert's brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you sure we're still talking about this Neal?" he asked, pointing at the infant, who was laughing because he had managed to roll over twice so he could reach for his favorite toy.

Peter only heaved a sigh.

"Look, son, I never met that Caffrey guy. But from what you've told me, I know that he did a lot of good for the FBI. Doesn't sound to me like you did anything wrong with him either. And you certainly won't do anything wrong with your son."

"But how do I know that?" Peter wondered.

"You don't, really. All you can give him is love."

"What if it's not enough? I just don't want to lose him again." Peter quickly reached out to stop Neal from rolling all the way off the blanket and put him back in the middle on his tummy, which he did not seem to like.

"There's one thing I can tell you about parenting," his dad said. "The more you try to hold on, the more they will want to let go. But as long as you let them know that there is nothing they could ever do that you could not forgive, you won't lose them. Because they will never find that anywhere else in the world." He rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You will figure it out, son. Because it's like you said – I raised you right. And you met a wonderful woman and had a beautiful boy, and if I wasn't sure that you will do right by them, I would kick your ass from here to Sunday myself."

Peter laughed. "Thanks, Dad."

"I hate to interrupt this little moment between three generations of Burke men, but I think that's enough tummy time for today." El and Cecile had come back inside.

"I'm just teaching him that as a Burke he can do anything he sets his mind to, honey," Peter replied. He realized that he was pushing his son a little, but he believed that it was never too soon to always do your best.

Meanwhile, Neal rolled over in the direction of his mother's voice and reached out with his arms.

"I think he has set his mind on something else right now," Robert said when El bent down to pick up her son and then got ready to nurse him.

"Understandable," Peter nodded. He would love to set his mind on that, too.

Perhaps the look on his face was a little too obvious because Cecile said, "But it looks like he's not afraid of strangers yet. So why don't you two go out tonight and leave Neal with us?"

El had settled with Neal on the couch. "Oh no, we didn't come here just so you would feel obligated to babysit."

"Of course not. But when was the last time the two of you spent some time alone – and not passed out from exhaustion?" Cecile asked.

"Um, the day before I went into labor?"

"Exactly. You need to make time for each other, and, of course, we would love to watch Neal. Right, Robert?"

"Sure," he nodded.

El looked hesitantly at Peter. "I don't know..."

Cecile wouldn't give up. "Just go and have dinner. Just for two hours. There's a lovely Italian restaurant not too far from here."

"Italian sounds nice," Peter had to agree.

"I do love Italian," El said with that smile that took Peter right back to when she had held up that sign for him. Suddenly, he really, really wanted to go.

"It's settled then." Cecile clapped her hands and then quickly apologized for making a sudden noise like that.

But Neal was nursing without a care in the world. He was perfectly fine. Unlike his parents.

The walk from the house to the car took them forever. El stopped several times. "Maybe we shouldn't do this. What if Neal feels like we're abandoning him?"

"I don't think he knows what abandonment is. You heard Cecile. He doesn't have separation anxiety yet," Peter reminded her.

"That's great, but maybe I do," El confessed. "Don't you miss him?"

"Of course, I miss him, but I also miss my wife. And right now, I would really love to take her to dinner."

El smiled and took another step towards the car. "And you're sure Robert and Cecile can handle him?"

"I think the fact that I'm standing here is proof that, as far as babysitting is concerned, my dad has pretty good credentials," Peter said.

"Good point," El agreed, kissed him on the cheek, and got in the car.

Peter started the engine and put the car into reverse. Then he paused with his foot on the gas.

El looked at him questioningly. "Everything okay, hon?"

"We're only a phone call away, right? 20 minutes tops," he said to himself as much as to El.

His wife smiled at him and rested her hand on his arm. "We can do this."

Peter nodded and backed the car out of the driveway. Once they were on the road and his father's house was no longer in his rearview mirror, he relaxed somewhat. "See that wasn't so hard," he said.

They both laughed.

At the restaurant El decided that she could make an exception and have a glass of wine since she wasn't going to breastfeed Neal in the next couple of hours. So they ordered wine and their favorite pasta.

"To us," Peter said when they clinked glasses.

"Right, and since we are doing this for us, I think we should do it properly – which means no talking about the baby the entire time," El said.

Peter nodded. "Makes sense. So... what do we talk about?"

They both fell silent for a moment.

"Wow, that's what our life has come to," Peter joked.

"I don't think that's a bad thing. Neal needed us to be there for him 24 hours a day, and so we were. This is our first chance to be us again. We just need to figure out what that means now that we're parents."

"Any ideas?" Peter asked.

El watched the wine in her glass swirl. "I was thinking I could get back to Burke Premiere Events. Ever since I took the job at the National Gallery, Yvonne has been managing the place beautifully, and I absolutely want her to keep doing that. But maybe I could offer to help out with a few things from home."

"Sure, if you're feeling up to it, hon," Peter agreed. He wasn't surprised to hear that. El had always been a hard worker, a go-getter, a force of nature. She still was all those things as a mom, but the transition hadn't been easy. "Do you miss it?"

"I miss the challenge sometimes," El admitted. "Don't get me wrong. Raising a child while also caring for an older dog and maintaining a household is definitely a challenge. But figuring out a wedding menu or a seating chart would make for a nice change."

"Actually, I think Neal could help you with that. He loves to rearrange his toys."

"Right, I've heard that Mr. Bear can absolutely no longer sit next to Snuffles because they both think that they are his favorite."

"Sounds like a serious diplomatic incident waiting to happen."

"Nothing a nice wine couldn't fix." El laughed, sipping her wine. "I can't even begin to tell you how good this is."

Peter smiled. "I'm sure Neal will be eternally grateful that you abstained for so long on his behalf."

"Mock me all you want. You weren't the one who was forbidden from drinking even one bottle of beer for almost a year!"

"I didn't drink any beer when you were around," Peter reminded her.

El snorted. "Yes, it was very considerate of you to wait until I had gone to bed and then try to hide the empty bottles from me."

"I was under a lot of pressure," Peter defended himself. "I had to prepare myself for becoming a father."

El's eyebrows shot up. "And I didn't?"

"No, but it seemed like you had it all figured out from the minute you told me you were pregnant," Peter said.

"Well, you don't have much of a choice when that tiny human is already growing inside of you."

Peter looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you sometimes wonder what our life would look like if you hadn't gotten pregnant?"

"No. I don't want to think about that," El shook her head.

"Neither do I," said Peter. "They probably would have loved you in Washington, though."

"But I wouldn't have. When they told me that I was pregnant, I was so happy, of course, but also relieved, because I knew I could go home now," El told him.

Peter reached across the table for her hand. "Honey, you could have come home either way."

"But if it hadn't been for the baby, you would have felt bad for making me give up the National Gallery, and I didn't want to put that on you, on us."

"I still feel bad sometimes for changing my mind like that."

"You did the right thing, honey." El squeezed his hand. "Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't been there when Neal was kidnapped."

"We might not have gone after the Pink Panthers," Peter mused. "He might still be alive."

"No. I don't know what would have happened. But I do know that Neal would not have been better off without you, without us," El said firmly.

Peter thought about that. Then he smiled. "Seems like we can't help talking about someone named Neal, no matter what we do."

"He was an every-day part of our life for a long time. That doesn't just go away."

"I guess so. And you and I have certainly been together for a long time," Peter said. "And I'm more grateful for it every day."

El leaned forward with a curious smile on her lips. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you're trying to butter me up."

"Well," Peter replied, leaning forward as well. "If I'm not mistaken, the last time we went out to have Italian we made a baby afterwards."

El laughed. "Oh, we're so not making a baby tonight."

"We could go for one of each," Peter suggested.

For a second he could see the temptation in El's eyes when she thought about having a little girl, too. Then she shook her head. "No, I'm just beginning to feel like a normal human being again, and I would like to enjoy that, thank you very much."

"You never looked any different," Peter assured her.

El only rolled her eyes at him.

Peter reached for his phone and held it up. It showed that old surveillance picture of El. "See, still exactly the same."

"You need to get new pictures, honey."

"Oh, I have plenty. But this one is special. This one is when I knew."

El bit her lip to keep from smiling. "When you knew what?"

"That one day I would look at this photo after a lifetime of being happily married to you," Peter said.

"Okay, now you're pushing it, honey," El laughed.

Before Peter could respond, the phone in his hand actually began to ring. Their playful mood vanished when they both immediately thought it might be Peter's dad calling because something was wrong with the baby.

But then Peter saw the caller ID and signaled El that it was okay. "Hey, Jones. What's up?"

"_They pulled off another heist. Hit a jewelry store this time,"_ Jones got right to it.

Peter sat up straight in his chair. "You mean it's the same thieves that stole from the DeArmitt Gallery?"

"_I think so. They left another statue behind."_

"Lady Liberty again?"

"_Nope, Chrysler Building this time,"_ Jones replied.

Peter frowned. This only got weirder. He looked at El, who looked questioningly back at him. They hadn't even finished eating yet.

"_I know you're at your dad's..."_ Jones filled the silence.

"I am. But that's okay. You are going to run point on this one, Jones," Peter said.

"_You sure?"_

"Yup. I'll be back in the office, waiting for your report, bright and early Monday morning. You're in charge, Jones. Make me proud."

"_Will do."_

Peter hung up and put away his phone.

"What was that?" El asked.

"That was me being an ASAC who trusts the people he trained, and, more importantly, a husband who really needs to spend more time with his wife," Peter said and raised his glass to her.

They clinked glasses again and finished their dinner.

Afterwards they walked back to the car, parked in a corner of the restaurant's parking lot, and Peter opened the passenger door for El.

"Thank you, hon," she said with a smile, and when he had circled round the car and gotten in as well, she added, "I'm really glad we decided to do this tonight."

"Me, too," Peter agreed.

"I missed us," El said.

"Me, too," Peter agreed.

El laughed and leaned in to kiss him. Peter didn't hesitate to kiss her back, and when their kiss deepened, he dropped his hands from her cheeks to her shoulders to pull her closer. Her lips were soft and inviting. God, he had missed kissing and holding her like this. Dr. Chontos had given El the green light to start exercising again, which theoretically included having sex. But they had been waiting for El to actually feel like she was ready. Of course, tonight, while they were staying under his dad's roof, was exceptionally poor timing.

But it was okay. This was good, too. At least until they got a little too carried away and Peter hit his head, trying to find a position he could work with. El winced when her leg got stuck in a weird angle, and both of them jumped when either one of them accidentally hit the car horn.

"I feel like a teenager again," Peter muttered.

"Except, we're not. We're too old to do this in the car," El realized.

"Right, not to mention it would look really bad on my record if I was arrested for indecent exposure."

They both collapsed into their seats, laughing.

"Well, I appreciate the effort, hon. And it was still a wonderful evening," El said.

"To be continued?" Peter asked.

El rested her hand on his leg. "Definitely."

* * *

As promised, Peter was waiting in the conference room on Monday with fresh cups of coffee for everyone.

"I thought having a baby meant that you were always tired. You look more awake than I am," Jones complained when he accepted the coffee.

"Let me guess. Neal's been up since five and you've already had three cups of these," Diana said when she took her seat.

"Something like that," Peter said with a smile on his lips.

In truth, it wasn't the coffee that had him feeling so refreshed but having spent a whole weekend with the people he loved most. His dad might have been the one who had been most excited, but it brought just as much joy to Peter's heart to watch him and Neal together. And of course, Peter was glad that he and El had taken the first steps to being intimate again, provided they would find the time. So yes, Peter was in a good mood, but he was not going to tell his agents why.

"So, where are we with the investigation?" he asked, sipping his own coffee.

Jones activated the screen on the wall and started with a picture of the jewelry store. It said 'Raffyen's Rare Jewelry' on the storefront. "This was their target. The store had a collection of rare jewelry on display with about five million dollars in diamonds split between the different pieces," Jones said and switched to a couple of pictures of diamond necklaces, earrings, and bracelets.

"Not surprising that those will get you the attention of the wrong kind of people," Peter noted.

"Right, but the owner was careful. All the pieces on display were actually fake. If someone wanted to buy something, they were taken to the back room. The store would check out their credentials, and only then they would open the vault to see the real thing."

Peter nodded approvingly. "So, what went wrong?"

"Meet Jolene Coderro." Jones called up an image of an attractive Hispanic woman in her mid-30ies. "Suspected in a number of thefts and break-ins, but nothing ever stuck. She talked the owner into showing her the real pieces in the vault, and then this happened."

Jones hit play on the surveillance footage, and it showed the storeowner and two security guards, who remained in the background but made their presence felt, as they accompanied Ms. Coderro into the vault. She was about to admire a diamond necklace when she suddenly began to foam at the mouth and to have violent seizures that caused her to fall over. The storeowner rushed in to help, and someone called 911. Mere minutes later, three paramedics arrived. Two of them worked on Jolene Coderro while the third one, whose face was hidden by an NYFD cap, carried the equipment and made sure that everyone else stayed back so his partners had room to work. Eventually, they carried Ms. Coderro out of the store on a stretcher.

Jones stopped the video. "When the dust had settled, the owner noticed that the jewelry was gone, and all they were left with was this." The miniature Chrysler Building popped up on screen.

As much as it pained him, Peter had to hand it to these guys. He hadn't seen such a cleverly executed heist in a while. It impressed and disgusted him at the same time. Something he hadn't felt since… well, Neal. He would have loved this. Unfortunately, he wasn't here to help them solve it.

"Did you check with the 911 operator?" Peter asked.

"Yup, never got the call. They must have intercepted it," Jones answered.

"And the paramedics?"

Jones called up more pictures. "Justin Henry, served three years for counterfeiting, and Michael Weston, got away with two counts of art theft on a technicality. We have BOLOs out on both of them. Third one, never got a face."

"So, other than the third paramedic, no one who was involved in the DeArmitt Gallery theft," Peter noticed.

"Either this isn't connected or they've done some expanding," said Diana.

Peter shook his head. "This is definitely the same gang. I don't know what's behind those figurines yet. But this is exactly the same MO. Provide a distraction, get away clean, and make sure the one person who commits the actual crime doesn't have a face. Even if we find Henry and Weston, all we got them on is impersonating an NYFD officer to save a woman's life."

"But how do they choose their targets?" Diana asked. "A small art gallery and a fancy jewelry store in Manhattan? There doesn't seem to be a pattern."

"Both places didn't have topnotch security. Easy to case, find a way to get in and out, and keep a low profile," Jones suggested.

"Whatever it is, they got away with it twice now. They're not going to keep a low profile for long. They will go bigger, and when they do, they will make mistakes. They always do." Peter leaned back in his chair. This was turning into a huge case. If it hadn't been already, the chase was definitely on now. But this time, it wasn't his. "So, how do we get them?" he asked, looking at Jones. This was still his investigation.

Jones barely hesitated. "I think for now Coderro is our best way in. NYPD picked her up, but they have nothing to hold her on. It's not illegal to have a seizure."

"Which means we can't hold her either," Diana said.

"No, but I was thinking I could go down to the precinct and let them put me in the holding cell with her on pretend charges. I'm no Caffrey, but maybe I can make her talk to me, gain her trust by forcing the NYPD's hand, get them to let us go, which they would have to do anyway."

Peter sighed. This was the kind of thing Neal would have excelled at – also, the kind of thing that had gotten him killed. "It's risky. If you do get in touch with any of the others through Coderro, they might recognize you from the DeArmitt Gallery investigation."

"I was at the gallery, but you and Diana handled the interviews," Jones argued. "I don't think they saw me. And this is our best bet."

The hardest part wasn't sitting back and letting others do the work. It was watching them take all the risk, Peter realized. But there was no way for him to get involved in such an undercover operation and make it to mommy-and-me class this afternoon. That made his decision rather simple.

"All right, your case, your call. Trust your gut, Jones. Let's get them."


	5. Stages of Grief

"Next one up is... Agent Kara Haywood. Excellent agent. Always on time. We love punctuality, don't we, Neal?"

Neal shook his little fist. The toy in his hand changed color and said 'moo,' which Peter took as confirmation.

He was sitting on the floor with his legs spread wide and Neal sitting in between them. Sitting unassisted was Neal's newest achievement, and Peter and Neal were equally proud of this milestone. Well, Peter probably a little more. Which was why he was currently working from his living room floor.

"Always on time, but rarely takes point. Probably needs further encouragement. Being a team player is important, but you can't be afraid to seize an opportunity to prove what you can do. Especially when you know that you can make a valuable contribution to the team. That's something to remember for later, son," Peter said.

Neal said something that sounded like "A-go-ga." Peter made sure to make a note of that in the file and reached for the next one.

"This one is trickier. Agent Brad Malone. Was among the five agents recommended for a commendation last year. Now, he's doing sloppy work, takes lots of sick days, and got caught asleep on the job. What changed? Well, he got a new girlfriend for once. Which I know because I'm ASAC, and I know everything. Also, he brought her to the last FBI Family Day picnic. She was the one who pinched your cheek."

Neal dropped his toy.

"Right, we didn't like that. But other than that, she seemed nice. I get that Agent Malone isn't thinking about work right now. Falling in love is very distracting. I was the same way with your mommy. But in life, it's all about balance, son. And losing your job, well, women don't usually find that very attractive."

El's laughter caused Peter to look up. "Are you using your department evaluation reports to teach soft skills to our five-month-old son?"

"Got to teach them while they're young," Peter replied with a lopsided grin. "And I didn't get to finish these reports before the alarm went off."

"What alarm?" El asked.

"The alarm I set to tell me that it's time to go home."

El seemed torn between laughter and approval. "You really set an alarm clock for that?"

"Of course. I wanted to be there when our son eats solids for the first time," Peter explained.

"I'm not sure I would call this solid," El said and showed him the bowl with puréed carrots she had been preparing in the kitchen.

They put Neal in his high chair and sat down in front of him. He looked rather skeptical at the spoon El was holding up to his lips.

"Come on, honey, open up for Mommy, please."

Peter opened his mouth.

"Not you, honey. Although… look at Daddy, Neal!" El said and fed him instead.

Peter chewed as loudly as he could, even though there was nothing to chew, and then swallowed slowly. Then he suddenly grabbed his throat and pretended to fall out of his chair.

Neal squealed in delight over his antics. El not so much.

"This is not helping, hon."

"Okay, okay, let's try again," Peter apologized.

El looked wary, but she fed him another spoonful.

"Mhm-mmm," Peter said loudly. "This is yummy. You should really try it, buddy, before I eat it all. You don't know this yet, but your mommy is the best cook in the whole world. You can trust her."

It took a little more convincing and coaxing, but eventually Neal got curious and began to eat. He had the funniest expression on his face when he tasted the new flavor and texture of this kind of solid food. In the end, he really seemed to enjoy it and ate at least half the bowl before he wanted to stop and turned his head away.

El dropped the spoon into the bowl and wiped a couple of tears away.

"Honey, what's wrong? The books said it's okay to stop if he doesn't want to keep eating," Peter reminded her.

"No, I know. It's just now he's starting to eat real food, and soon he'll be able to eat all on his own, and then he won't need me anymore."

It sounded ridiculous, but Peter knew that El was merely feeling vulnerable because she had stopped breastfeeding sooner than they had originally planned. Peter had begun to see the good in that. Bottle-feeding didn't discriminate against parents who didn't have breasts, which meant that he could chip in a lot more. But El was still getting over the loss of that primary responsibility that had defined her and her schedule for months.

"Honey, even if he learns to eat by himself, he won't be able to make dinner for himself for a long time. Actually, maybe never," Peter joked to distract her.

And it worked. "Oh, no! He's my son, too. No pot roast for the rest of his life for him."

"Hey!" Peter protested, but he decided to let that go and put an arm around his wife instead. "Either way, he will always need you, and he will definitely always love you," he said. "Like father, like son."

El smiled and leaned in to kiss him.

Neal hit the bowl with his little fist and sent the spoon and the rest of the mashed carrots flying everywhere.

"Maybe you should leave the soft skills for later, hon, and focus on his motor skills first," El said as she wiped carrot mash off her cheek.

"How was I supposed to know that he would get his table manners from you?" Peter replied, shaking it out of his hair.

El's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, hon, but I have seen your sister eat on Thanksgiving."

"Oh, you mean like this?" El took the rest of the carrot mash and smeared it all over Peter's face.

Peter looked from his wife to his son, his face dripping.

Neal shrieked with laughter.

Well, the books had said not to put too much pressure on yourself or your child for the first feeding. Make it fun.

Mission accomplished then.

* * *

6:03.

Peter turned off the alarm and got ready to leave the office. El was cooking branzino tonight, which he had been looking forward to all day. Not as much as Neal would have done. He had loved El's branzino recipe. And just for a split second, Peter caught himself thinking he should invite him until he remembered, of course, that he couldn't. He wondered how long it would take for that to stop. Then again, maybe he didn't want it to stop.

"Almost down to six p.m. That's a new record," Diana said from the doorway to his office.

"No. Check your watch," Peter replied with a grin. "It's five fifty-eight. I moved it ahead five minutes."

"Impressive." Diana smiled. "I'm heading home, too, so I can put Theo to bed. Then we should be all set for the stakeout tonight. You sure you don't want to join? One last stakeout. Could be fun."

After weeks of undercover work, Jones had finally fed them some viable intel. It looked like this new gang of thieves they were chasing had picked the Met as their next target. So Diana and the team would be sitting in the van tonight. There had been a time when Peter would have loved nothing more than to join them. Now, the only face he wanted to stare at all night was his son's.

"Nah. El's cooking dinner. Sign me up for the morning shift. I'll bring the coffee," Peter offered.

"You know, you're the only ASAC I know who turns down a dream job at White Collar D.C. to bring coffee to the stakeout team at dawn," Diana said.

"I could bring the baby if you prefer," Peter replied. "You could bring Theo, and we could make it an official playdate."

Diana laughed. "Like an FBI-and-me class? I like it."

They walked down the stairs together and stopped at Diana's desk. "I just have to wrap up a few things," she said.

Peter nodded. "Good luck tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

On his way out of the office, he paused for a moment. Walking out of those doors while the team had a big job to do was something Peter was still getting used to. It wasn't a lack of trust. Diana was leading the stakeout, Jones was still undercover, and they were both doing perfectly fine without him. And yet, Peter looked at that empty desk in the corner and felt like something was missing, like Neal should have been there, and that if he had been, he would have tried to tell him something that Peter wasn't seeing.

That was probably just the field agent in him, wanting to scratch an itch. Still, it couldn't hurt to cover all their bases and gather more information. And so Peter decided to take a little detour before going home.

* * *

Finding Mozzie wasn't very difficult because Peter had kept an eye on the little guy from a distance as much as Mozzie's paranoia would allow. So for once, big brother really had been watching. But only to make sure he was okay.

If scamming tourists out of their money by playing Three Card Monte qualified as 'okay.' For Mozzie, it probably did.

"So, any other takers?" he just called out.

"Yeah, I'll play," Peter said, approaching the cardboard box Mozzie was using as a table. He instantly scared away the people who had gathered round by flashing his badge.

Mozzie looked surprised but not unpleasantly so, or so Peter hoped. "Suit," he said.

Funny how Peter had almost missed hearing that. "Been a while, Moz."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We've been chasing this new gang of thieves. So far, they have hit a gallery and a jewelry store and always got away clean. They are making quite a name for themselves, so I figured you might have heard something," Peter explained.

"Ah, you know that as an upstanding citizen I would love to help big brother out, but I'm not into that life anymore. I make an honest living now," Mozzie replied.

"I can see that," Peter teased.

Mozzie answered with a self-deprecating smile, and then they fell silent. Perhaps they were both realizing how long they hadn't talked to one another. Not since the hospital. Not since baby Neal had been born six long and at the same time very short months ago and had changed Peter's life – and his priorities. Which also meant that the other Neal had now been dead for a year.

Eventually, it was Mozzie who asked, "How are you, Peter?"

Maybe it was because Mozzie had used his actual name. Or because no one had been closer to Neal than Mozzie – besides Peter. Or because he couldn't talk to El about this because he didn't want to make her sad again. Whatever it was, Peter felt compelled to admit that, no matter how hard he had tried, he still hadn't moved on. Not completely.

"I still see him sometimes," he said. "You know... his face. I catch him out of the corner of my eye, and just for a minute, he's real."

And Mozzie didn't mock or dismiss him. He just nodded. "I hear him. 'Hey, Moz' in the roar of a subway going by or his laugh in a taxi horn," he made a confession of his own.

"I turn, but he's never there."

"Oh, can't help that, said the cat. We're all mad here," Mozzie quoted _Alice in Wonderland._

Speaking of which, Peter was about to go back down a rabbit hole he had taken a long time to climb out of, but he couldn't help himself. "I keep telling myself if I just got there a minute sooner," he said. It was probably the one thing he would never be able to accept, no matter how many years passed.

"Ah, stage three, bargaining. Myself, stage four," Mozzie said, again with refreshing honesty.

"Depression?" Peter asked. "I would have figured you for denial."

Mozzie laughed humorlessly. "No more conspiracy theories." He sighed deeply and held up a Queen of Hearts. "This is the queen he played me with the day we met. He conned me right here on this spot. He gave me this card just before the job. And for the longest time I thought he knew. He knew he was gonna die so he gave me this to say goodbye. And if he knew that, it must have been a con. Neal Caffrey's greatest con."

"But it wasn't," Peter said softly.

Mozzie slowly shook his head. "Thus, I move from denial to depression."

And so, they were both stuck. Unable to move on to that final stage. They had lived with the truth for a year now, but they hadn't accepted it. In this moment, Peter felt a kinship he hadn't expected.

"You should stop by the house sometime," he said sincerely. "El misses you." If the baby hadn't kept her busy 24/7, she would have gone out to look for Mozzie herself. Speaking of which... "And you have to see the boy."

"Ha, I would like that!" Mozzie agreed.

He seemed to mean it, so Peter decided to let him be for now. Whatever reasons Mozzie had had to stay away from them for the past months, he could keep them to himself. "See you, Haversham."

"Winters. Teddy Winters," Mozzie corrected him.

Peter smiled. Maybe some things were changing after all.

* * *

Mozzie watched the Suit leave. Life really did have a funny sense of humor. If anyone had told him a couple of years ago that he would come to like, dare he say _befriend _an FBI Agent, he would have called them crazier than even Lewis Carroll ever could.

Then again, he also wouldn't have believed that he would still be here, in this park, with this makeshift table, doing card tricks, and not on a remote island somewhere enjoying his well-earned retirement. Okay, maybe not an island, since that hadn't worked out so well the last time. And Mozzie didn't believe in going back.

Which, naturally, was why he was still here now.

He shook his head and focused on a group of tourists coming his way. Before he could call out to them, however, he got distracted by a mother, who was pushing a stroller and didn't notice how her son dropped his stuffed animal. Understandably, the baby began to cry, and the mother stopped to see what was wrong. But she couldn't figure it out because she refused to look behind her. It was not unlike watching a horror movie. The baby cried harder, which, of course, made the mother more frantic as well, and he couldn't take this anymore!

Mozzie heaved a sigh and ran over there to pick up the lost giraffe. So that's what his life had come to. Well, he was only doing this because this could have easily been Elizabeth. Or so he told himself when he handed the giraffe back to the grateful mother.

Having done his good deed for the day, Mozzie returned to his box, only to find something sitting on it that hadn't been there before. He turned around quickly and saw a boy running off, way too fast for him to catch up.

Oh no! Things were even worse than he had realized. He was losing his edge. He had fallen for a classic misdirect!

Shocked and extremely suspicious, Mozzie inspected the object that had been left on his makeshift table. At first, his brow furrowed in confusion. It was a small figurine of a hula dancer. Then his eyes widened. This wasn't just any hula dancer. This was Lolana!

There was a note attached to her, and Mozzie's hands were shaking when he opened it.

All it said was: _"An artist has no home in Europe except in…"_

The last word was illegible due to a wine stain. Mozzie held it up to his nose and sniffed at it. He nodded in approval. Whoever had left that stain had chosen an excellent vintage. Well, if one decided to dabble in existentialism, a nice glass of Bordeaux was definitely called for.

Only there weren't a great many people who knew that Mozzie had a penchant for wine and German philosophers. And even fewer who knew about Lolana, and had a connection to the city that Nietzsche had talked about in that quote.

Really, there was only one person.

Suddenly Mozzie had to sit so he wouldn't lose control over his legs in a rather undignified manner. He searched for the boy again, but he was long gone of course.

"Mon Dieu!" he said with a grin that would have given the Cheshire Cat a run for its money.

* * *

Neal was fussing. As he had done almost all day. Which was great timing because Satchmo had been sick these past few days; he was getting better but he still needed a little extra attention. And so Elizabeth was not only cooking baby food but also special dog food, on top of the dinner for the grown-up humans who could chew actual food of course.

In the middle of all that, her landlord, who rented out office space to Burke Premiere Events, had wanted to go over some new lease agreements. He had insisted on dealing with Elizabeth in person rather than Yvonne. Unable to talk him out of it, Elizabeth had been forced to drag Neal all the way to the office with her. The team had been delighted to watch him, but that had resulted in him missing naptime. And now he was cranky.

"Sweetheart, I know. It's been a crazy day. But Mommy is here now, and I love you. I love you so much," Elizabeth cooed while she gently rocked her son and patted his back. "And I would love you even more if you stopped crying."

Neal didn't seem to find that very funny. And he didn't stop. Instead, Satchmo joined in and started whining.

"Okay, boys, really, that's enough!" Elizabeth sat down next to Satchmo with Neal in her lap. "I know _you_ are tired, and _you_ are still feeling a little sick, but crying won't make it better. All it will do is give Mommy a headache, and then Mommy can't make food for anyone in this house. And Daddy will be home soon. That's no reason to be sad, right?"

She had begun to pet Satchmo, and when Neal showed some interest, she helped him to reach out with his tiny hand and carefully do the same. Satchmo settled down and then turned his head and licked Neal's face.

Neal dropped his hand in shock, and Elizabeth held her breath – on the verge of either laughter or panic. Then Neal burst out laughing, Satchmo wagged his tail, and Elizabeth closed her eyes in relief.

A knock on the door interrupted them.

"Who's that, Neal? Do you think Daddy forgot his key?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal looked at her with those big, round eyes, extremely adorable but completely clueless.

Elizabeth smiled and picked him up to go and open the door. "Let's go and see, shall we?" she said. "But I don't think it's Daddy. Daddy never forgets his keys. His lunch? Yes. Putting the milk back in the fridge after putting it in his coffee? Definitely. But never his keys – or how much he loves you, of course." She placed kisses all over her son's face, causing him to giggle happily.

Her own smile froze on her lips when she opened the door. "Mozzie!?"

"Hello, Mrs. Suit. I apologize for the untimely visit. I didn't have time to inquire first if you are currently receiving visitors."

"Receiving visitors?" Elizabeth repeated. "Are you kidding me? I don't know if I should hug you or hit you right now."

Mozzie made a face. "I understand your dilemma. But before you make a decision, may I point out that motherhood clearly becomes you. I have never seen anyone radiate so much love and beauty at the same time."

"Do you really think flattery is going to get you through this door?" Elizabeth asked.

"Flattery is when praise seeks a reward, I know," Mozzie admitted. "And I'm afraid I must – very humbly, of course – ask for the pleasure of your company."

"Oh, shut up, and get in here!" Elizabeth said and pulled him inside.

Mozzie smiled, and when she had closed the door behind him, his eyes went to the baby on her arm. "This is the mini-Suit, I take it?"

"This... is Neal." Elizabeth said, but he was being shy and hid his face.

"Hello... Neal," Mozzie said softly. "It's an honor to meet you – properly, I mean. Last time I saw you, you were asleep. Which is understandable. My memories of being born are a little fuzzy, but they don't call it 'sleeping like a baby' for nothing."

Neal still didn't lift his head from Elizabeth's shoulder but he turned it a little so he could look at Mozzie.

"I realize I'm a little late to the party but, as we all know, the best guests are the ones that don't come empty-handed," Mozzie continued and held up an old teddy bear. "This is Mozart. He's been with me for as long as I can remember, and he has helped me through some pretty tough times. He is a very special bear. He protects the ones who love and take care of him. But that's just between you and me, okay? Would you like to hold him?"

Finally, Neal lifted his head and looked up at Elizabeth first. She smiled at her son because she knew he wouldn't be able to resist. Neal grabbed the bear and tightly hugged it to his chest.

Mozzie laughed. "See. And all is forgiven."

"I don't know about that," Elizabeth said. "But you can hold him so I can finish his dinner."

Completely fascinated by his new toy, Neal didn't even protest when he was separated from his mother. It took him a while to notice that the person holding him now was new to him. That's when he became curious and used his free hand to reach for Mozzie's glasses.

"Oh, I'm afraid you can't have those. I'm as blind as a bat without them," Mozzie said.

Neal took his glasses anyway.

"I see he is living up to his name already."

"I'm sorry, Moz. You can put him in his chair so he knows it's time for dinner," Elizabeth replied.

Mozzie did as he was told, and once Neal was seated in his chair, Mozzie sat down Mozart on the table right next to Neal.

"So where have you been, Moz?" Elizabeth asked from the kitchen.

"Oh, here and there. You know me."

"No, I don't think I do. I thought we were friends," Elizabeth said because she couldn't help feeling a little hurt.

Mozzie tore his eyes away from the baby to look at her. "We are!" he assured her. "You cannot think of my absence as a diminishment of our friendship. Quite the opposite, really. I was merely giving you the opportunity to experience this new chapter in your life without anyone getting in the way."

Elizabeth shook her head. "You wouldn't have been in the way, Moz. I told you that a thousand times."

"Nevertheless, there are some journeys that one needs to travel alone – and the dearest of friends stay with you even after you've said goodbye to them."

"Goodbye? What...?" Elizabeth didn't get to finish her question because Neal began to fuss again. Clearly, dinner was taking too long. "I'm almost done here. You can try to distract him by reading him a story. He likes that. His books are all upstairs," she told Mozzie.

"That's all right," he replied. "I don't need books. Every good conman knows how to tell a story. Isn't that right, Neal?"

"Mozzie!"

"Uh, I meant every good... and clever man knows how to tell a story," Mozzie corrected himself and launched into a story that sounded incredibly familiar to Elizabeth, even though it was certainly not in any of Neal's books.

But she didn't say anything and let Mozzie continue. Now that he had finally come by the house, she wanted Neal to get to know him. And Neal seemed quite enamored. When Elizabeth sat down next to Mozzie and began to feed her son his dinner, he ate without any more fuss or drama, always keeping his eyes on Mozzie.

"And then using the magical box with the map inside, the white knight teamed up with the dark knight to find the treasure in the submarine. But the evil warlord got there first and forced the knights into the submarine, which was booby-trapped with TNT..."

"We can skip that part," Elizabeth interrupted him. As much as she wanted Neal to know the real Mozzie, she didn't want him to have nightmares.

"Oh, right. So the knights find the treasure. But then the warlord tricks them and uses dark magic to make it disappear. The end," Mozzie now finished his story quickly.

"That's the whole story?" Peter's voice suddenly came from behind them.

Elizabeth hadn't even heard him come in. "Hi," she greeted her husband with a smile. Since he didn't look surprised to find Mozzie here, she got the feeling that he had something to do with this unexpected visit.

"Yup, and I'm sticking to it," Mozzie answered Peter's question.

"Well, I think Neal likes it. Don't ya?" Elizabeth said, tickling her son's chest.

"He's a man with impeccable taste," Mozzie nodded. "That's why gets to keep Mozart."

"Oh, that's sweet. Thanks, Moz!" Elizabeth said. She knew what that bear meant to him. Part of her wondered if there was something he was trying to tell them that she did not understand. But either way, it had become clear to her that she couldn't stop Mozzie from being Mozzie. That's why she didn't say anything when he stood up now as if he wanted to leave already.

Peter meanwhile confirmed her earlier suspicion. "You didn't waste any time," he said.

"You told me to come by," Mozzie replied.

"I did." Now that Mozzie had made room for him, Peter kissed both El and Neal hello. "Stay for dinner," he then said to Moz.

But he wasn't any more successful than Elizabeth had been. "Oh, nice try, Suit. You know I can't stay in one place for too long."

Peter accepted his decision the same way Elizabeth had – with regret but understanding. Only now, Mozzie seemed to be the one hesitating.

"Hey, Suit?"

"Yeah?" Peter asked distractedly. His focus had already shifted to Neal. Being a parent did that to you. Nothing was more important than your child. Everything else paled in comparison.

"I'll see you around," Mozzie said eventually and waved goodbye to them.

They both nodded. Then Peter took the seat next to Elizabeth that Mozzie had vacated and they continued to feed their son. By now, Neal was a pro when it came to eating solids.

"Look at you! You stole that right off the spoon." Elizabeth laughed at her son's eagerness. "Did you see that?" she asked her husband.

"Sure did," he said, the same pride in his voice.

Now that Elizabeth looked at him, she noticed he was holding something in his hand. "What's that?"

"I don't know. It was on the stoop. Maybe it's a belated gift. There was no note, but look at that!" Peter said when he opened the wooden box. There was a bottle of wine inside.

"Wow! A nice bottle of Bordeaux." El was impressed. And delighted. "After the day I've had, Mommy's gonna have some of that," she said to Neal.

Peter chuckled. "Why? What happened, hon?"

"Oh, Satchmo was still a little cranky, and I think he infected Neal with it."

"Did he? He doesn't look cranky to me. He looks like the cutest, smartest, and happiest boy in the whole world. Don't you, Neal?" Peter said, running his fingers up Neal's chest and giving his nose a light tap, making him laugh.

El smiled at them. She would never tire of witnessing the unconditional love between her husband and son. "Maybe he was waiting for his daddy to come home," she said. "So what do you say, Daddy? Why don't you finish feeding Neal and put him to bed, and I'll make dinner?"

Peter agreed and eagerly took the spoon from her hand.

His enthusiasm waned somewhat when he was done with dinner and tried to get his son to go to sleep – and discovered that he was indeed being difficult today.

"Neal's down," he announced about an hour later, breathing a sigh of relief. "But that might have been the toughest case I have ever been on."

"Well, then you've earned this." Elizabeth had already set the table, and the fish had been ready since Peter had started reading Neal's favorite nighttime story the second time. "How is your actual case going?" she asked when they had sat down to eat.

"If everything goes well, we'll be closing it tonight. Diana and the team are staking out the Met, which, according to Jones, should be their next target."

"A stakeout, huh? Sounds exciting."

Peter nodded. "Let's hope so. Otherwise Diana might fall asleep. Theo's been going through some sleep regression lately."

"She told me about that. Something to look forward to," Elizabeth joked.

"Not all babies go through that phase. I'm sure Neal will be fine. Burkes are straight shooters. No going back."

Elizabeth laughed. "I'll remind you of that when the time comes. So, you didn't want to join Diana?" she asked lightly.

"And miss out on this?" Peter speared a piece of fish with his fork. "Why would I want that?"

"There was a time not too long ago when you couldn't resist a good stakeout," Elizabeth reminded him.

"Well, now I can't resist spending a nice, quiet evening with my wife," Peter replied.

Elizabeth smiled. "Then what do you say after dinner we take that nice bottle of Bordeaux and get comfortable on the couch?"

"I'd say I should skip stakeouts more often."

And so they left the dishes on the table when they were done eating and followed Elizabeth's suggestion. They sat on the couch, poured the wine, and clinked glasses. Maybe the many months of staying away from alcohol during pregnancy and nursing had something to do with it, but it tasted a thousand times better than she could remember. Even Peter nodded appreciatively. When he leaned back and Elizabeth snuggled up to him, she began to hope that this day might end on a good note after all.

Then Neal started to cry again.

Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes for a second.

"I'll go," Peter offered.

Well, they had shared a nice, uninterrupted dinner. The glass of wine would have to wait. "No, you do the dishes. I get Neal," Elizabeth decided. It was only fair since Peter had already done battle with him earlier.

"That's a deal," he agreed.

Elizabeth got up, but only after sharing a smile and a long kiss with her husband. They would definitely have to pick that up later.

For now, she needed to convince her son of the benefits of sleep.

* * *

Peter was about to start cleaning up when his phone rang.

"Hi, Diana. How's the stakeout going?" he asked after noticing the caller ID.

"_It isn't," _Diana answered in a clipped voice. _"We sat on the wrong building."_

"What?"

"_Just got a call from NYPD. They hit the Met all right – as in Opera, not Museum,"_ Diana explained.

Peter cursed under his breath. "Did you check in with Jones?" To figure out how the hell this happened.

"_Radio silence."_

That wasn't good. None of this was. They had wasted government resources on bad intel, had failed to stop another heist from happening right under their noses, and had an undercover agent who was currently AWOL. All of it meant only one thing. Peter could not stay on the sidelines any longer.

"I'll meet you at the crime scene," he told Diana.

"_Got it."_

They hung up and Peter grabbed his jacket. "El! I have to go back to work," he called.

"Why? What happened?" she asked, appearing at the top of the stairs.

Neal's crying picked up again in the background. By raising his voice Peter had probably startled him, and he felt bad about that. But he couldn't fix it now. "I don't really know yet. But I will tell you all about it later," he promised his wife. "I love you, hon."

"Okay. I love you, too." El looked worried. But he didn't have time to fix that either.

Peter got in his car and headed for the Metropolitan Opera. At every red light, he grabbed a file from the passenger seat to familiarize himself with the case again and go over all the evidence they had collected so far. At the Met, he met up with Diana.

She didn't bother with pleasantries. "They stole a Stradivarius that was on loan to the Met," she told him. "It wasn't in the show tonight, so they put it on display. Its estimated value is 15 million dollars."

Peter nodded. As predicted, their heists were escalating. It was a natural progression he had witnessed and used to his advantage many times. Eventually, meticulous planning and careful execution always took a backseat to ambition and greed.

"There's more. We just found a guard. He was stabbed to death," Diana said.

Apparently, they were losing control faster than Peter had thought. "Are we sure it's them?" he asked grimly. Killing hadn't been a part of their MO before.

"Pretty sure." They had reached the empty case where the Stradivarius had been and Diana pointed at it.

There was another miniature statue in its place. A statue of the Empire State Building.

And suddenly, everything clicked into place for Peter.

"At this point, I think it's safe to say that this is their calling card. Whatever it means..." Diana shrugged.

"It's a message," Peter said. "For me."

"What?"

Peter flipped over a page from the file he held in his hand so he could write on its back. "The first theft happened at the DeArmitt Gallery, which is where I first met my wife." He wrote down El's name.

"The second one targeted the Raffyen's Rare Jewelry store, owned by a man named Alec Raffyen. Which also happens to be an anagram for..." Next to El's name he wrote, _'Neal Caffrey.'_

"More importantly, Neal and I met in a jewelry store. And now, for this one, they left an Empire State Building, which, of course, is where I was arrested and almost lost everything." Peter added his own name to the piece of paper and circled all three of them.

Diana's eyes were wide. "What does that mean?"

"It means that this is personal." Extremely personal, because very few people knew that Peter and Neal had once met in a jewelry store, unaware of who the other was.

In any case, it led him to one urgent conclusion. "We need to pull out Jones. Now!"

Diana tried to call him again. "Still no answer."

"Dammit! We have to find him, Diana, before they do. Go! I'll handle this."

Calling in more agents to help, Diana ran off while Peter stayed to investigate the crime scene and coordinate with the NYPD and the Met's general manager. The dead guard was their best chance of finding DNA evidence. It also left Peter fearing the worst. Killing the guard might not have been planned, but they hadn't shied away from it either.

Unfortunately, his fears were warranted.

Diana got back to him two hours later. _"Found him, boss. He's at New York-Presbyterian. It took so long to identify him because he didn't have his gun or badge on him."_

"What happened? Is he okay?" Peter asked urgently.

"_Don't know. The doctors wouldn't talk to me over the phone,"_ Diana replied, worry and anger giving her voice a sharp edge.

"I'm heading there now," Peter decided.

"_Me, too."_

"No, I need you to stay and run point at the office." Peter sighed. "I'm sorry, Diana."

She took it in stride. That was the job. _"Understood. Keep me posted?"_

"Will do."

Peter got back in his car, this time to drive to the hospital. He really didn't like the direction this night was going in. But it put him in exactly the right mood to deal with the hospital staff. By strong-arming a couple of nurses and waving his badge in the faces of several doctors, Peter made his way to Jones' room on the ICU floor. Jones was hooked to a lot of machinery and sported a nasty bruise on his forehead. He was unconscious, but the monitors told Peter that he had a steady pulse.

"He got lucky," one of the doctors informed Peter. "He flatlined in the ambulance, but we were able to get him back. He's relatively stable now, but we will have to wait for him to wake up to assess permanent damage."

"What happened?" Peter asked.

"He ran into the street and got hit by a car."

Peter frowned. "Was he chasing someone?"

"You'll have to ask him. But according to the driver who made the 911 call, he looked disoriented and a little out of it before stepping onto the street."

That didn't sound like Jones. And then there were the missing gun and badge... "Did you run a tox screen?"

The doctor shook his head. "That's not standard procedure in cases like this."

Peter held up his badge. "Do it anyway."

The doctor sighed and left.

Peter let Diana know that Jones was hanging in there and he texted El that she shouldn't wait up for him. It was going to be a long night.

The results of the tox screen came back an hour after midnight. "You were right. We found traces of a very potent hallucinogen in his blood."

"Is that going to affect his recovery?"

"Most of the effects would have worn off by now, but we'll know more when he wakes up."

Peter thanked the doctor and sat back in his chair. Most likely, Jones' cover had been blown, and then someone had tried to dispose of him, making it look like an accident. The information about the wrong Met could have been given to him for exactly that reason or it had been a test. But Peter strongly suspected that it wouldn't have mattered either way. Jones had been hopeful that he would get to meet the mastermind behind all this soon, this man without a face, and maybe he had. But not even the best undercover agent could infiltrate someone who knew his true identity.

They needed Jones to wake up to find out what had really happened.

"I'm sorry, Jones. We will make them pay for this," Peter promised him, his eyes traveling from the monitors to Jones' chest that was slowly rising and falling. He'd had a bad feeling about this undercover operation from the start. But Jones was no rookie. He knew what he was doing, and Peter found it hard to believe that he hadn't seen this coming.

Jones' left index finger twitched, and for a moment Peter dared to hope that he was waking up. But the monitors didn't register any change, and nothing happened. Something about Jones' left hand caught Peter's attention, though.

He stood to take a closer look, and despite everything a smile spread across Peter's face. There was something written on the palm of Jones' hand, and Peter would have recognized that scrawl anywhere after a decade of working together.

It was only one word. _"Tuesday."_

Peter frowned. Since he had just been told that Jones had been drugged, this could have very well been the irrational action of someone under the influence. Or it could have been the calculated move of an experienced agent who had known that he wouldn't get out of a bad situation – at least not alive and well. Then this would have been the only way to pass a message that was strange and inconspicuous enough not to raise suspicion but to still be of use to the right people.

Like Peter.

Unless he only wanted this to be true. If he was wrong, he was risking his career as ASAC. The angry phone call from the higher-ups in Washington he had received earlier had told him as much. Peter took one more look at Jones' still form and made his decision.

He left the hospital with his phone in hand. First of all, he arranged for a security detail for Jones so the people who had done this to him wouldn't try to finish the job. Then Peter sat in the silence of his car and tried to recall the information he needed.

There had been a time when Peter could name everything from Neal Caffrey's blood type to his shoe size. Now, he could still do that – just for a different Neal. Still, he remembered the address he was looking for and reached for his phone again.

"_Any news, boss?"_ Diana picked up after the first ring.

"Jones hasn't regained consciousness yet, but he might have just solved this case. I need you to assemble a team and meet me at this address."

Diana jotted it down, and once again she didn't waste time asking questions. _"Copy that. Calling it in now."_

Peter knew Diana would work as fast as she possibly could, but he wasn't just going to sit here and wait. He entered the address into his Sat Nav and started driving. At this time of night, the streets weren't quite as bad as they usually were – especially since he was heading out of the city. Peter knew he was getting close when there was only one narrow road left, paved at first but then turning to gravel, and framed by thick, dark trees on both sides. When his Sat Nav confirmed that he was approaching his destination, Peter killed the headlights, plunging everything into almost complete darkness. After a couple more seconds, slowly inching forward, he stopped the car and turned off the engine.

Unsurprisingly, there was hardly any cell service out here so Peter couldn't check in with Diana. But she had to be at least twenty to thirty minutes out. Peter drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Then he grabbed his gun and got out of the car. Carefully, he made his way down the road, the gravel crunching under the soles of his shoes. But the woods surrounding this place swallowed all other sounds.

Finally, the narrow road widened and the trees receded to make room for a house. A house with lights on and lots of movement inside. Hidden underneath the low branches of a giant oak tree, Peter counted at least five people. It looked like they were busy packing up, which meant they were running out of time. Peter took careful notice of the doors leading in and out of the house as well as the two cars parked out front. Then he began retracing his steps back to the car. He composed a quick text to Diana, hoping that it might get through.

He had just hit send when his instincts told him to look up. There was a second figure in the darkness, circling round Peter's car, checking to see if it was empty. A man. In the dim light of his cell phone screen Peter recognized him immediately.

And he noticed Peter at the exact same time. Almost. Peter had a two-seconds head start. It was all he needed to draw his gun.

"Peter, we have to stop meeting like this," the man in the dark said.

It was James Bennett.

* * *

**A/N: Some scenes from this chapter are directly from the show – I just tweaked them a little. The same way I did with Peter and Neal's first meeting. Their official meeting took place in the episode 'Forging Bonds,' of course. But in my other White Collar story I added a little scene in a jewelry store years before that (without making any changes to the canon of the show), and I decided to go with that again here. So that's what Peter is referring to. Hope you don't mind. (If you're interested in reading that scene, it's right at the beginning of chapter 14 'Promising Forever' of my story 'The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives'). **

**Also, sorry about that cliffhanger! ;)**


	6. The Man without a Face

**A/N: Here we go with chapter six. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, but also a huge thanks to everyone who has favorited this story. Knowing that you guys are enjoying this keeps me going.**

* * *

_..._

_It was James Bennett._

But for a moment, Peter heard Neal's voice. Bennett's devil-may-care attitude and his audacity to lean against Peter's car as if he wasn't being held at gun point were painful reminders that father and son really had been cut from the same cloth. In some ways, at least.

"So, it really was you," Peter replied, keeping his voice calm, while he slowly edged closer. His cell phone had gone dark again, so if he had to shoot, the light was not ideal.

"Was I being too subtle? I didn't know what kind of clues Neal used to leave you," Bennett said.

No, there had been little doubt left in Peter's mind. Bennett was one of the few people outside of Peter's trusted circle of friends and family who could have learned the necessary information to leave those clues. Neal could have told him, or El, or even Peter himself. Hell, they once had dinner with the guy!

And Jones' message had been the final piece of the puzzle. 'Tuesday' as in Mozzie's habit of naming his safe houses after days of the week. And they had used this particular safe house to hide James when they had thought that he was the one who needed protection from Senator Pratt. After everything that had happened since then, Mozzie had abandoned the safe house, claiming that James had ruined its Chi or Feng Shui or whatever. No one had thought that Bennett would be brazen enough to return and stay there again – right under their noses.

"You wanted me on the case," Peter realized now.

"I thought Neal would have appreciated the irony."

"Don't talk about him!" Peter hissed. "Neal has nothing to do with this."

"He has everything to do with this!" Bennett argued. "This is the life he would have lived if you hadn't caught him. The life he truly loved. I'm just honoring who he really was."

Peter shook his head. "You have no idea who Neal was. You can tell yourself all you want that you're doing this for him, but the only one you're really doing this for is you. And it is not the way to make up for the fact that you were no father to him."

"And how are you the one to judge?" Bennett shot back. "Do you really think you did right by Neal when you put that anklet on him? When you used him like a dog on a leash? Did you actually tell yourself that he was happy?"

"Whatever Neal was, he was never a killer," Peter said pointedly.

"Sometimes the end justifies the means," Bennett replied vaguely, not actually admitting to anything. "Don't pretend like you don't subscribe to that as well."

"What I subscribe to is the letter of the law," Peter corrected him, taking another step closer. "Which means that you're under arrest."

Bennett actually smirked at him. "I thought we've been over this, Peter. You might have convinced Neal to choose you over me — to get you out of prison and make me a fugitive. But Neal is gone now. And I am done running. If you arrest me, I'll destroy you."

There was nothing in the look on Bennett's face to indicate whether he was bluffing or not. But it didn't matter either way. "Do you honestly think I will let you go? I'm not like you, James. I can't be bought," Peter spat.

"That's funny, because how is it you're a free man again? Right, my son forged a confession, and then he stole two million dollars in Welsh gold coins to bribe the federal prosecutor on your case to authenticate it and let you go. And you made sure no one would ever know by sending the fence involved to prison on weapons dealing charges and forcing the prosecutor to retire, free of any punishment. That's right, Peter. I was a detective once, and I know how to get on a case, too," Bennett snarled.

"Maybe. But you don't have any proof. And our justice system isn't in the habit of listening to the word of a murderer," Peter countered to cover up how much he hated to be reminded of that dark chapter in his past.

Bennett didn't look fooled. "Actually, you might have moved on, but that prosecutor you forced into early retirement has since then amassed a fairly significant gambling debt with the wrong kind of people. And if someone were to offer him sufficient money to save him and his family from those people coming to collect, he might be willing to talk."

Peter's anger spiked. He had allowed himself to be compromised once. He was not about to make the same mistake again. "I don't care. I'll own up to what I did, but so will you. I'm taking you in this time," Peter said and forced Bennett to put his hands on the hood of the car so he could approach him and reach for his cuffs.

But Bennett wouldn't shut up. "Think about that lovely wife of yours and your newborn son. What will happen to them if you're in prison? Because I have to tell you, Peter, since you didn't protect my Neal, I don't feel very inclined to watch out for yours."

Peter had always thought that seeing red was just a figure of speech. But in this moment, after James had not only threatened El a second time but hinted at possibly hurting his son, Peter's blood literally boiled in his veins and his vision was tinted with rage. He pushed Bennett against the car and pressed the barrel of his gun into his neck.

Shooting him would be nothing short of an execution, but Peter didn't care. When he had said that he was not going to compromise who he was like that ever again, he had meant it, but protecting his family was the only exception. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them. He could pull the trigger and call it self-defense. Bennett was a wanted fugitive. He was ASAC of New York White Collar. Chances were he would get away with it.

But then, what would he tell his son when he woke up in the morning? How would he teach him about right and wrong? How could Neal ever look up to him, knowing his own father had crossed that line – even if it had been for the right reasons. Which was just an excuse. There could never and would never be a right reason for murder. The only right thing to do was to arrest James. But if he acted on his threats and Peter got arrested, too, Elizabeth and Neal would lose everything. Either way, he was hurting his family, and Peter couldn't see a way out of it.

He froze for a couple of seconds, caught in the dilemma of this lose-lose situation. Then the sound of cars coming up the road told them both that their time was up. The car in front had pulled ahead and was the first one to reach them, screeching to a halt next to them. Diana and a second agent to replace Jones, named Ryan, jumped out.

"You okay, boss?" Diana asked.

Peter took it as a sign that the decision was out of his hands. "We got them, Diana. But we need to hurry. They were about to pack up and abandon ship," he told her and shoved Bennett at Agent Ryan, leaving it to the younger agent to cuff the guy. Peter just wanted to be rid of him – and, more importantly, the temptation to clock him or do something a lot worse. Meanwhile, Diana radioed the following cars to drive all the way up to the house.

The first car sped over a bump in the road, its headlights flashing and blinding them for a second. It was all it took for Bennett to slip out of his cuffs and Agent Ryan's grip and run off into the woods.

Peter swore loudly and ran after him. Now he really wished he had just shot him when he had the chance. In the midst of all these trees it was too dark. He didn't have a shot. He could barely even see where he was going. He would have lost Bennett altogether, but he could still hear his labored breathing. The painful truth was that they were both getting too old for foot chases through dark, treacherous woods at night.

When the darkness lifted somewhat and the trees stood a little less close together, Peter's relief was short-lived. He heard the banging of a car door and then an engine starting. This wasn't a headless flight, he realized. Bennett was executing an emergency exit plan! Peter pushed himself as much as he possibly could and saw the car before it sped off, sending dirt flying everywhere and forcing Peter to shield his eyes. He still caught a glimpse of the make and model of the car as well as a partial plate – for all the good that would do them since Bennett knew to ditch the car the first chance he got.

Still, Peter turned around and almost bumped right into Agent Ryan, who had also taken up pursuit since Bennett had been in his custody when he had slipped out of his cuffs. It wasn't Ryan's fault. He had never seen the ease with which Neal used to pull that little trick. But Peter didn't have time to console the younger agent. He ripped the radio out of Ryan's hand and issued an APB for Bennett's car, ordered roadblocks to be set up in every direction, and requested air support.

Bennett's attempts at messing with his life had knocked Peter off-balance. But not for long. He had his legs back underneath him and his team assembled around him. This group of thieves Bennett had spearheaded had played him for a fool long enough. It ended tonight. Of course, Peter knew that the response time when it came to dispatching enough police units for roadblocks and getting a helicopter in the air might be too slow at this time of night. But he had no control over that. And a tiny, ugly part of him was relieved.

Except, he had no reason to be. A murderer was still free. A murderer who possibly had it in for his family. Peter had just given the radio back to Ryan, but now he grabbed it again and ordered a couple of agents to go and sit outside his house. He hoped that Elizabeth was fast asleep and wouldn't notice so she couldn't worry.

God, El... he had no idea how he was going to tell her about any of this…

For now, he did what he did know how to do. His job. He joined Diana who had supervised the takedown at the house. They got all five members of the group, or at least all five they knew about. The two accomplices from the DeArmitt Gallery heist and Henry and Weston as well as Coderro from the jewelry store – they took them all into custody. They also secured the stolen violin since there had been no time to fence it. The diamonds were gone, of course, and all that was left of the piece stolen from the gallery was a tag. But now that they had most of the gang in custody, they could lean on them to give up information. Plus, they had only just scratched the surface when it came to the evidence in the house that needed to be processed.

Not tonight, though. Once they were done securing the scene and logging their preliminary findings into evidence, it was three a.m. To push everyone to keep going would only increase the risk of mistakes being made. And they would probably benefit from letting their perps stew in a cell for the rest of the night. Also, Peter was anxious to get back home and be with his family. He had checked in with the NYPD and State Police. The helicopter had done a sweep and come up empty, but the roadblocks were in place and would stay that way. They would have to wait and see.

So Peter sent everyone home. Only Diana hung back. "So it really was James all along? What happened before we got here?" she asked.

"You don't want to know," Peter replied grimly. Aside from him and Bennett, the only people alive who knew the full story of what had happened were El and Mozzie. It wasn't a question of trust with Diana and Jones. Peter simply didn't want to put anyone else in a compromising position.

Diana seemed to understand that. "All right, but if you need anything…"

"Right now, I just need you to go home and kiss Theo. There's nothing more important than that."

"You're sure you're okay?" Diana looked at him, her brows furrowed.

Peter gave her a tired smile, the best he could manage. "Yeah, just a long night."

"Tell me about it. So how about we both go and be with our sons?"

"Sounds like a plan," Peter agreed.

And he really did drive straight home. He relieved the agents who were sitting outside his house and reported nothing out of the ordinary. Still, Peter went upstairs to check for himself. El was asleep, though the lamp on her bedside table was still on. She had probably tried to wait up for him and failed. Peter turned off the light and readjusted the covers around his wife.

Then he entered the nursery, and, standing over the crib, he heaved a long sigh. Neal was lying on his back, sleeping peacefully and without a care in the world. Peter desperately wanted it to stay that way. And he realized that there had never been a choice. Not as an FBI agent and, more importantly, not as a father either. He couldn't allow a man to be out there who made such threats, no matter how veiled or hinging on blackmail. Neal needed to be safe. All other concerns were secondary.

Except, maybe, not to accidentally wake him. So Peter made himself leave and go back downstairs to check on Satchmo. That's when he saw the open bottle of wine and the two glasses on the coffee table. After the phone call from Diana he had run out of here without actually cleaning any of it up. But he could just as well take care of it now. Peter didn't think he would get much sleep tonight, no matter how exhausted he was – body and soul.

He sat on the couch and finished his half-empty glass from earlier. Then he reached for the cork and paused. There was something written on it. Three numbers. 701. It could have meant any number of things, really, but it seemed to stir a memory. Peter couldn't quite put his finger on it, though, and he shouldn't have cared. He had enough to worry about.

But that was just it. Seeing James, talking to him about the clues he had left him, the clues he had fashioned after the ones Neal had liked to send… it reminded Peter that this bottle had been left on the stoop without a note or any explanation whatsoever. That wasn't normal. Sure, it could have been a gift, and someone could have forgotten to sign it, or the card could have gotten lost. That's what Peter had presumed earlier. Why he hadn't been concerned to drink it.

But tonight had changed everything.

And now there was a number on this cork. A number Peter thought he knew. James was likely still out there, and whether Peter liked it or not, he kept using Neal to remind them both of what they had lost.

Before he could change his mind, Peter stood to get the box with all of Neal's stuff. Everything he had kept because it wasn't evidence and not exactly of sentimental value either, but it was something. Peter reached inside the box and removed Neal's CI badge, his lock pick set, and then… there it was. A key to a storage unit.

A storage unit where Neal had been spotted exchanging something, most likely money, with a young woman when he had still been undercover with the Pink Panthers. Back then, they had assumed that Neal had rented one of the containers. Jones had joked that it wasn't a bad place to stash half a billion dollars. Peter had nixed that idea, but he had agreed that Neal wouldn't do something like that unless he had a plan.

The key belonged to storage unit 701.

Peter looked from the cork to the key and back again. The connection was crystal clear. The odds of this being a coincidence were extremely low – even if Peter had believed in coincidences. But what did he believe in? That Neal had rented a storage unit and somehow had made sure that, in case of his death, Peter would get an obscure hint in form of an anonymous wine delivery a full year later that would lead him to it – provided he would figure it out? It sounded far-fetched and entirely unnecessary. It was unlikely that Neal would have planned that far ahead. More importantly, it would mean that Neal had planned for his own death…

Shaking his head, Peter pocketed the key. He was probably losing his mind and coming up with crazy theories because he needed sleep. A couple of hours at least. He put everything away, the wine, the evidence box, all of it, did the dishes in record time, and then finally went to bed.

He was still uneasy. So much so that he left his phone and his gun right there on the bedside table. Since his son couldn't walk yet and the loaded weapon couldn't accidentally fall into his little hands, Peter could take that risk. It gave him a little peace of mind. Enough to fall asleep for a bit. Only to dream of James Bennett and Neal Caffrey and Neal Burke, and he was losing them all…

Peter startled awake in the early morning. The house was quiet. After all the fuss Neal had made before going to sleep, he seemed to be having a good night. El was still sleeping as well. One of her hands rested on Peter's chest, probably just making sure that he was there. Everything was fine. Everything was as it should be. But only within the four walls of this house. Peter knew that things were quite different outside and so going back to sleep was impossible.

He gently removed El's arm and slipped out of bed. He tiptoed into Neal's room and gave him a kiss as light as a feather. Then he left a note in the kitchen, explaining that he had gone back to the office early.

Once there, he checked in on the hunt for James and buried himself in the case, going over every detail with fresh eyes. When Diana got in, he put her in charge of the interrogations. By mid-morning, she walked back into Peter's office.

"Any luck with James?" she asked.

"Not yet. But I never thought he'd be dumb enough to drive straight into a roadblock," Peter replied.

Diana lowered herself into the seat in front of his desk. "You know, I kind of liked it better when he was still pretending to be on our side."

Peter only nodded. "How about you?"

"Individually, we have enough to put them all away, and I might have a lead on the fence they used to get rid of the diamonds and sell the DeArmitt piece. But so far, not one of them is willing to roll on Bennett. Since we didn't arrest him on-site and he semi-officially stayed in that safe house before, which makes fingerprints potentially useless, they all have the same story. Don't know him. Never worked with him. The house was just there for the taking."

"I'm not surprised," Peter said and showed Diana the file from the prison murder, "because James killed Woodford. It's the only thing that makes sense. If he holds the Pink Panthers at least partially responsible for Neal's death, it would explain why he wanted revenge. And it gave him the added bonus of making everyone he works with too scared to talk."

Diana made a face. "Except we can't prove it."

"Not yet, but at least now we have our man without a face. It might give us other leads. And on the bright side, the general manager of the Met was extremely grateful for the swift recovery of the Stradivarius. You interested in season tickets?" Peter tried to lighten the mood.

"I'm not sure Theo would like the opera very much. But you should take Elizabeth. I could watch Neal," Diana jumped on board.

But that reminded Peter that things weren't normal and he couldn't pretend otherwise. Diana seemed to read as much on his face. "We still have James' confession that he killed Pratt. So he's going away one way or another," she said.

She couldn't know that didn't in fact make things better, and Peter's phone rang before he needed to respond. Diana wanted to leave, but Peter signaled her not to because it was just a quick update from the hospital. "We might have something better," he told her after hanging up. "Jones is awake."

They quickly got into his car and drove over to the hospital. Jones still looked a little out of it, but he was indeed conscious and talking, albeit slowly.

"How are you feeling, Jones?" Peter asked him.

"Like I was hit by a bus," Jones replied. "Literally."

Diana laughed. "Technically, it was a 95 Chevy."

"I'll have to take your word for it." Jones shrugged and seemed to regret that movement almost instantly.

"You don't remember?" Peter asked, frowning, and looked from Jones to the doctor.

"Memory loss is quite common with this type of traumatic injury. And considering he was dosed with a potent hallucinogen, he's lucky the damage to his brain wasn't more severe."

"Is there a chance the memories will come back to him eventually?"

"Yes, of course, but that's impossible to say."

Jones looked from one to the other. "Why? What's going on? We got them, right?"

"Look at your hand, Jones. Maybe that will jog your memory," Peter suggested.

"Did I write that?"

Well, it had been worth a try. "You did, and you led us right to the safe house they were using."

"Damn, I'm good!" Jones whistled. Some of it might have been the pain meds talking. "Then why doesn't it feel like a victory party in here?"

"Because we got all of them except for James Bennett, who's been the man we've been looking for this whole time," Diana explained.

"And if you don't remember seeing him…"

Jones cursed colorfully when he understood the situation. "Maybe we can use that stuff the little guy gave Caffrey to help him remember what happened when he was with that crazy therapist," he proposed.

Peter shook his head. "I think you've had enough drugs for now."

"Okay, but even if I don't remember, we still have him for murder, right?" Jones said the same thing Diana had pointed out in the office.

Peter sighed. Perhaps it was time. "The confession was fake."

Jones and Diana exchanged a surprised look. Clearly, they hadn't seen that one coming, but to their credit, they seemed to piece it together quickly. "Neal?"

Peter nodded.

"But that means…"

"Nothing — for the time being," Peter interrupted them. "You need to focus on getting better and getting out of here," he said to Jones, and to Diana he added, "And you need to put away the rest of them. James is mine."

And he couldn't run from the FBI forever. Better men than him had tried and failed – his son among them. Neal had given Peter a run for his money, and maybe he still did. Instinctively, Peter's hand went to the key in his pocket. He had tried to put it out of his mind, but it felt like his pocket was only getting heavier with every hour that passed.

And now Jones was on the mend, Diana had the investigation firmly in hand, and El and the baby were save at home, protected by another squad car. Only there was a timer attached to it all, and James Bennett was the one who could set it off. Peter could not let that stand. Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of options right now.

The key, however, was an option.

Peter couldn't help himself. He asked Diana to get back to the office without him, and he went to check out those storage units. Since he had a badge and the key, no one stopped him. Peter walked up to container 701. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to be right about this. He wasn't even sure what 'this' was exactly.

The key fit, and the container opened.

At first, Peter thought this was nothing more than a storage unit for some of Neal's stuff. Then he saw the mannequin. It was dressed in a suit and had been shot at almost the exact same angle as Neal. On a table right next to it were 48 caliber bullets and empty shell casings, definitely the same caliber Neal had been shot with. But that wasn't even the half of it. The walls were plastered with medical information. At first glance, it looked like Neal had studied human anatomy. Except, there were also the pictures – of the medical examiner who had presented Neal's dead body to Peter and Mozzie, and of the paramedic who had been first on the scene and who had tended to Neal's wounds.

Or rather, who had pretended to do just that. There was a third photo. This one of a puffer fish, followed by detailed research on tetrodotoxin and its effects on the human body, which included slowing down the heart rate and metabolism, a decrease in body temperature, dilated pupils, and pallid skin. In other words, convincing the body – and everyone else for that matter – that it was basically dead.

Except, it wasn't.

"… _it must have been a con. Neal Caffrey's greatest con,"_ Mozzie's voice echoed in Peter's memory. This couldn't possibly be happening. Could he really owe Mozzie an apology for accusing him of being in denial? For refusing to see the truth right in front of him? Had it actually been Peter who had refused to see?

His eyes were definitely wide open now, and he saw an article on the Louvre and an update in their security. Paris! Every conman's dream…

"_Neal Caffrey's greatest con…"_

It was all right here. Clear as day. He wasn't dreaming. You didn't even need to be a member of law enforcement to figure out how these pieces fit together. Or maybe you did. Because the FBI agent in Peter understood. He had understood instantly. But the man, the friend, the father in him was reeling.

Disbelief. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. Relief. Joy. Rage. Joy. More rage.

He was spiraling. For he didn't know how long.

His neatly arranged universe that he had painstakingly put together again in these past couple of weeks and months was suddenly turned upside down, inside out, by a massive, big-bang-sized shake-up that left him speechless.

Eventually, a smile spread across Peter's face.

Neal was alive.

Which meant Peter could go and find him and then kill him for doing this to him – to all of them. El and Mozzie…

Peter turned and his eyes landed on a Queen of Hearts. Somehow – he didn't know how, but at this point what did he know? – he knew it was the same card Mozzie had shown him yesterday. Okay, so Mozzie had figured it out, too, and he hadn't thought to tell them either…

Back to rage then.

His phone rang, and for a crazy, delirious, irrational moment, Peter thought it would be Neal. After seeing all of this, he wouldn't have put it past him to have a camera in here. But it wasn't him. It was El, and Peter knew he had to pick up, even if he wasn't sure if he could summon his voice to speak.

"_Hey, hon. Neal and I were just about to have lunch. And I know you're busy, but I thought I would check in to see if you had time to join us."_ It was El's covert way of telling him that she was concerned about what was going on. Her next reminder would probably be less oblique and less patient if he didn't make time to tell her now. Only El had no idea what she was asking for.

Still, no more lies. There had been plenty of those to go around. Peter was standing in the biggest one of them all. But not between him and El.

"I'd love to," Peter said.

El sounded surprised, as if she hadn't actually expected him to agree, but relieved as well. If only he didn't have to ruin that. _"Oh, okay, great. See you soon then."_

"Yes, and honey? I love you."

"_I'm beginning to think I might not actually want to know what's been going on,"_ El chuckled.

Peter sighed. He had married a very, very smart woman. "You and me both."

"_Come home anyway,"_ El decided without hesitation.

"Leaving now," Peter told her, but he had to take another look around before he actually did leave. He wasn't really sure what this place was – crime scene, evidence, nothing of the sort? So for now, Peter only closed the container and left everything untouched.

Then he went home to his wife and his son – who was named after a dead man who was suddenly no longer dead.

That pretty much summed up everything he was feeling when he walked through the door.

Until he actually laid eyes on his son. The love swelling in his chest was always more powerful than whatever was bothering him.

El knew that, and she offered him the bottle she had already prepared for Neal. "Why don't you feed him, hon, while I whip up lunch for us? Maybe we can bring some to those nice officers outside, too."

"You saw those, huh?" Peter asked, chagrined.

"Honey, it's not the first time we had a detail sitting outside our house. Not even close, actually," El reminded him.

Peter sighed. "I'm sorry, hon."

"Don't be sorry. Feed our son, and then tell me what's going on." El seemed remarkably composed. Peter gladly accepted any excuse to keep it that way a little longer.

He took the bottle and his son and sat down. As much as it calmed him to see his baby boy happy, he couldn't look at him right now without also thinking about the other Neal, wondering how he had missed it. Had there been signs? When had Neal started planning this? How had he pulled it off without anyone noticing? Not even Mozzie. Although that was yet to be determined… but no, Peter didn't think Mozzie had known for long. Not for sure. Subconsciously, maybe. Greatest con, indeed. Great in a "no lessons learned, all bridges burned" kind of way…

"Hon, what are you doing? Honey? Peter!"

It took his wife calling his name three times for him to snap out of it. And to notice that he had been holding the bottle just within sight but out of reach for Neal. Hungry and not amused, he had begun to cry. Quickly, Peter refocused on feeding his son and shot El an apologetic look.

"I have never seen you like this. Is this serious? Are we really in danger?" she asked, lunch now all but forgotten.

Neal had finished his bottle. With him sitting in Peter's lap, happily digesting, Peter indicated for El to join them on the couch. "I think you should sit, honey."

"Okay, now you're scaring me," she said, but she did sit.

For a brief moment, Peter wondered where to begin, but there really was no question as to the bigger news. "Honey, do you remember the bottle of wine I found on the stoop last night?" By now, it felt like a whole lot longer than that. Everything had changed since then.

"You're not going to tell me that there was something wrong with it, are you? Because I feel fine."

"No, the wine was fine. Turns out there was a message after all."

"Oh, who sent it?" El asked.

Peter thought about different answers, but in the end he just came out with it. "Neal."

Naturally, El's eyes first went to the child sitting between them, then she frowned, seemed to realize her mistake, and looked back up. "What? Why would he arrange for something like that? Yesterday was no one's birthday or anniversary…"

"No, not like a message from beyond the grave," Peter said, although he was impressed that El had thought of that so quickly.

"From where then?" she asked, now clearly confused.

"Paris, most likely," Peter replied before he realized that he was burying the lead and had to back up. He reached around baby Neal in his lap so he could hold his wife's hands. "Honey, I think Neal is still alive."

El blinked. Once. Twice. Her face was an unreadable mask. "What?" She hadn't heard him. Not really.

"I know it sounds crazy," Peter continued quickly. "But the wine led me to a storage unit Neal had rented before his death, and it was all in there, El. All the evidence…"

"What evidence?" she interrupted him this time. "This isn't one of your cases."

"Actually, it might be…"

"No, it's not!" El stood, raising her voice. "This is a life we're talking about! Someone we loved and lost and mourned. Someone we named our son after! And now you're telling me… what? He rose from the dead?"

Baby Neal's eyes were huge when he looked up at his mother, wondering whether he should get upset and start to cry because clearly his mommy was upset, too. Peter tried to soothe him before he could make his decision by rocking his son in his lap. His eyes were on his wife, though.

"No, I'm telling you that he was never really dead to begin with."

"But that's impossible! We buried him, Peter! You saw his body! You told me you saw his body. We were sitting right there. And you were trying not to cry… we both were…" El was breaking down, her face and her anger crumpling. Instead, her eyes were pleading with him – whether to say that it wasn't true or to prove that it was, Peter wasn't sure.

But their son had decided that he did not like that look on his mother's face and he did start to cry. El automatically reached out to him, and, knowing that was probably the best way to help her, Peter handed their son over to her.

He also pulled her back down to sit next to him on the sofa again so he could rest his hands on her legs. El held the baby close to her chest, rubbing his back, calming him down, calming herself down, calming all of them down. When Neal was quieting down and tiring himself out at the same time, El took a deep breath.

"How?" was all she asked.

And so Peter told her about the storage unit. About how Neal had fired at a mannequin to have a bullet for evidence; how he had paid the medical examiner and the paramedic to fake his injuries and his death certificate; and how he had taken the tetrodotoxin to look dead when Peter and Mozzie had come to see him.

"But you can't be certain that he wasn't just doing research on all of that, can you? I mean… you haven't… looked?" El asked slowly when Peter was done.

"No. I don't have the authority to exhume his grave unless I'm officially opening an investigation." Peter shuddered at the thought, even though he knew the casket would be empty. "But where would the wine have come from if not from him? The wine with the number to his storage unit on it?"

"Mozzie, maybe?" El suggested. She didn't want to believe just yet. She couldn't. She was protecting herself. "Have you talked to him about this?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he already knows. He left the Queen of Hearts in the storage container. He just told me about that card yesterday. So I'm guessing Neal sent him a message, too. He's probably strolling down Champs-Élysées as we speak."

"No, he wouldn't just leave like that without…" El stopped, remembering something. Neal's head rested on her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. El carefully put him down on his play blanket and grabbed Mozart the teddy bear instead, showing it to Peter. "He really did come by last night to say goodbye!" she realized. "Next time I see him, I'm going to kill him. Both of them. Seriously, honey, how are you so calm about this?"

Peter snorted. "Because now that we're parents, we can't both be entertaining murderous thoughts," he tried to joke. Then he shook his head. "I'm not calm, El. I just don't know what I am yet. I've been going over this in my head since I found the evidence."

"Why would Neal do this?" El voiced the million-dollar question.

"To be free? Because he's a thief? Because he will always be a thief?" Peter replied, his own anger making itself known.

Funnily enough, it was now El who took the wind out of his sails. "No, hon, I'm upset, too, but I don't believe that."

No, it didn't make any sense. Neal's contract with the FBI had been ironclad. He would have been free either way after bringing down the Pink Panthers. Sure, going off anklet wasn't quite the same kind of freedom as being declared dead – which would give him the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card for doing something as crazy as robbing the Louvre.

But El was right. As angry as he was, Peter refused to believe that five years of partnership, of friendship, of becoming a family wasn't worth as much as the chance of a big score – even if it was the score of a lifetime.

"Perhaps Neal thought he was protecting me. If one of the Panthers had gotten away, if something had gone wrong at the trial, even from prison before Woodford was killed… they wouldn't have taken kindly to learning that Neal betrayed them," Peter mused, trying to remember the events from over a year ago. "And when Keller tried to shoot me, his gun didn't go off. Neal must have tampered with that, too. Whatever happened exactly, he had it all planned."

"I asked him to do that." El looked stricken. "To protect you. And he swore to me he would stop at nothing to keep you safe."

Peter squeezed her hand. "Honey, you didn't ask him to do this."

Suddenly, El's solemn expression eased into a beautiful, wondrous smile.

"What?" Peter asked, slightly confused.

"You do realize we've had this conversation before? About Neal. So many times. And now we're having it again." She paused, her smile growing. "Honey, Neal is alive! Don't get me wrong. I still want to slap him senseless, but he's alive! We didn't lose him. You didn't fail him. I know you still believed that. But it's not true. It was never true."

El cupped his cheek and kissed him amidst tears of joy, his or hers, it didn't matter. But Peter's shoulders slumped with the burden of knowledge. El drew back. After all these years she was perfectly attuned to every bit of tension, any kind of sorrow that darkened his soul.

"What is it, hon?" she asked, her hand moving from his cheek to his chest, his heart, which was hers anyway, hers and Neal's – baby Neal's, although, at this point, the distinction seemed irrelevant.

"There's more," Peter told her. He hated ruining that brilliant smile on her face.

El's eyes widened. "How can there be _more_?"

"I didn't leave because of Neal last night. I left because there was another break-in. Jones had given us bad intel because his cover had been blown, and the gang tried to get rid of him," Peter began to explain.

"Oh my God, is he okay?"

"Yes, he's at the hospital, but he's awake now, and the doctors expect him to make a full recovery," Peter said quickly, realizing he kept piling on. "And he helped us solve the case anyway. We recovered some of the art, Diana has a lead on the rest, and most of the gang is in custody now. But none of that is what I really need to tell you."

El just stared at him, her look a little accusatory now, like he had been holding out on her – which, Peter supposed, he had. And honestly, he would keep doing so if there were any other way, any way not to worry her.

There wasn't, and so Peter confessed, "We also identified the leader of the group."

"But that's good, right?" El asked.

"It's James Bennett."

El froze. "No."

"He's still on the run, but I had him. For a minute, I had him, El," Peter pushed ahead before he could change his mind. "But James knows what happened at my hearing. If I arrest him, he will probably get the fake confession thrown out and my case reopened. And he might even have evidence that I covered up what Neal, Hagen, and my prosecutor did."

El's answer was quick and not unexpected. They had been down this road before. "Then don't arrest him."

But so was Peter's. "Honey, you know I can't do that."

"What I know is that we have that little boy to think about," El said, pointing at Neal, who, being asleep, looked even more vulnerable and innocent. "A boy who did nothing wrong, and neither did you! So why won't this stop haunting us?"

"Because I didn't do the right thing, El. That's why," Peter replied grimly. "But that's actually beside the point."

"How can you going back to prison be beside the point?" El asked, getting worked up again.

Peter held up a hand so she would at least let him explain. He had to get it all out now. "I don't know if you remember when James and I met at Neal's funeral, if you were close enough to hear, but James blames me for Neal getting killed on my watch, because he trusted me more than James. So he implied that because I took his Neal, he might take mine if I wasn't around to protect him."

Peter had seen El upset and angry and shocked and concerned – all of it within the span of this conversation. But this was different. The color drained from her face at the same time that her eyes became cold and furious, darting towards where her son was sleeping as if she might jump on top of him this very second.

His work as an FBI agent had put El through the wringer a couple of times, pushed her to the limits of what she could bear, and still she had never been deterred, had never wavered. But now they had reached the end of the line.

"No. No, no, no, no!" was all she could say at first. Peter was pretty sure it was fury robbing her of the ability to speak, with all-consuming panic right underneath. He knew that because he felt the same way. But he'd had more time to form the right words.

Quickly and firmly he grabbed El's hands in his. "It's not going to happen, El. I'm not letting it. He won't touch him. He won't get anywhere near him. Or you. Whatever happens, I promise you, he won't hurt you." Peter paused, willing her to believe him. "But that's why I can't allow James to stay out there."

El's eyes were still darting back and forth between her son and her husband. Her thoughts were spinning. "But Neal's alive!" she finally remembered. "You could tell James that. Then he would have no more reason to hurt us."

"Even if it was that simple, James would never believe me. You very nearly didn't, and you know everything that happened with the Pink Panthers," Peter pointed out. Plus, he didn't feel that a threat like that was something you could simply take back. But of course, he understood that El was looking for a way out. A way out for all of them.

"Then you have to go to Paris and get Neal back here in person." And apparently, El was not shying away from drastic measures.

Peter gaped at her. "You want me to go to Paris?"

"Don't pretend like you don't want to go. See Neal again. Talk to him. Ask him what the hell he was thinking…"

"Well…" Of course, it had been the very first thing that had popped into Peter's mind. The chase was on again. It had also been the first idea he had nixed. He couldn't just up and leave. He belonged with his wife and son. Except, his wife was telling him to go. "I would have to find him first," he mused. "One article on the Louvre isn't much of a lead."

"You'll find him. You always do," El assured him.

Peter was a little stumped. This conversation had been a roller-coaster ride of emotions. Maybe El wasn't thinking clearly. "Are you sure, hon?"

El sighed and gazed at their son. Some of her anger cleared, replaced with determination. When she looked at Peter again, there was hope where before there had been hate. "I think it's time Neal met his big brother. Time to bring him home."

Smiling, Peter brought El's hands to his lips and kissed them, one after the other. He tried not to be too excited about this. He had wanted to hop on a plane the second he had figured it all out. But that had been in the heat of the moment. When the breadcrumbs Neal had left behind were practically screaming at him, demanding he follow them. Now, back home, Peter couldn't possibly imagine walking out that door. He might find Neal, but he could still lose everything.

"I can't leave you and the baby," he told El. "Not with James still out there, threatening you."

"Honey, there's a protective detail right outside the house," El reminded him, but she failed to cover up all of her concern. She wouldn't trust those men with her son's life.

And neither would Peter. "Not good enough. My only guarantee that you'll be safe is if we're together," he said and looked at his son again. "You'll have to come with me."

"You want to go on a seven-hour flight with a six-month-old baby?" El asked, baffled. "Honey, do you remember when we flew to Belize and there was this baby on board that was crying the entire time? How you kept complaining about it?"

Peter cringed. "That was… before. And Neal is a good sleeper. We've had nights where he's been asleep for six to eight hours straight. He might not even notice what's happening."

"What if he doesn't sleep? What if the pressure hurts his ears during take-off and landing and he's in pain?" El argued.

"You have a doctor's appointment with him tomorrow, don't you?" Peter pressed, not giving up. "Isn't that perfect timing then? Neal can get all the vaccinations and check-ups he needs, and the doctor can make sure that he's healthy enough to fly."

El was still torn. "I just don't know if this is the way to keep him safe, hon."

"It is because he will be with us the entire time," Peter insisted. He was really beginning to love the idea, the thought of having his entire family with him – and far away from James Bennett. "You always wanted to go back to Paris."

He could see that El was coming around. Yes, traveling with a baby was a huge undertaking, and she was right to be concerned and to want to think this through. But at the end of the day, the only thing that truly mattered to her was their happiness, and that meant being together.

"Well, if the doctor says it's okay…" she agreed.

Peter grinned. "Then I guess the Burkes are going to Paris."

El made a face. "Oh, honey, don't say it like that."

"Why not?"

"Because the last time you said that we were going to Washington, and we all know how that turned out."

"Right." But he was still grinning.

It wasn't technically a solution, more of a stay of execution. Still, Peter had a gut feeling that this was the right thing to do for his family. All of his family.

And his gut was never wrong.

Because Neal was still alive.

So to hell with what had happened in the past, the Burkes were going to Paris.


	7. Team Burke

**A/N: I've been terribly busy lately, so this chapter is a little shorter. Hopefully, I'll still be able to update regularly. Thank you for all your support and enthusiasm for this story. It means a lot.**

* * *

When the FBI prepared for a sting, they tried to account for all eventualities. As a father, Peter had learned that going anywhere with a baby worked quite the same way. So, he planned everything about their trip to Paris in minutiae detail.

That same day after he and El had made their decision, he went back to the office to put in for some time off. For a brief moment, he had considered making this an official investigation, but he had quickly decided against it. He wasn't sure if he was seeing the whole picture yet. Neal must have had his reasons, and until Peter knew all of them, he was hesitant to make big waves. People tended to notice when someone who had been dead for over a year suddenly returned to the land of the living. And a tiny part of Peter was afraid of the embarrassment should he be wrong about this after all.

Instead, he used the rest of his vacation days and the overtime he had accumulated (not as many hours as it used to be but still sufficient). The brass in Washington was more than happy to grant his request. From their perspective, this whole thing had turned into a win for the Bureau. With Jones about to be released from the hospital, the Stradivarius and the art from the DeArmitt Gallery recovered (Diana's lead had panned out), and everyone in custody, including the fence, the only dark mark on their record was the fact that James Bennett was still at large. But evidence of his involvement was slim, so basically, he just went back to being the fugitive he had been before.

Only Peter knew better. But he had a flight to catch.

He had booked them special family seats on the plane so they would have a little more room, and he had made sure to get them a family suite at their hotel in Paris, equipped with a crib and a high chair and everything else they couldn't bring on the plane. He really hoped this wouldn't turn out to be nothing but a wild goose chase. Otherwise, it was shaping up to be a very expensive one. Then again, he hadn't taken El on enough vacations. Even though this one was taking place under rather dubious circumstances, perhaps it could still make up for some of it.

They brought Satchmo to friends of theirs who had recently gotten a puppy. Maybe it was having the baby in the house, but Satchmo had taken a liking to the puppy and had taken him under his wing on their walks together. That softened the blow of having to leave Satchmo behind somewhat. Since an extended vacation was a bit of a novelty in the Burke household, no one was used to that.

Still, El had decided to get into the spirit of things. Ever since the doctor had okayed Neal for flying, she and Peter both tried to prepare Neal for going on his first big trip. They talked to him about it constantly, explaining again and again how they were going to fly with an airplane over a huge body of water to a city far, far away.

Neal couldn't understand any of it, of course, but he did feel their excitement, and he was laughing and listening to their explanations, his eyes wide and engaged. It looked like he was ready for this little Burke family adventure and was just as hyped as his parents.

And then they actually boarded the plane and Neal zonked out immediately. All the excitement had tired him out before they had even gotten to the exciting part.

Peter and El looked at each other and laughed. "Well, that was anticlimactic," Peter said.

"Don't jinx it, honey. Let him sleep," El urged him.

Sleeping was indeed the wisest course of action. They had chosen a night flight, so when the plane had reached cruising altitude, El rested her head on Peter's shoulder to follow her son's example.

"I can't believe we're really going to Paris to look for Neal," she whispered.

"Second thoughts?" Peter asked.

"Do you still think he's there?"

"I do." 35,000 feet up in the air would have been a really bad time to change his mind after all.

El seemed to agree. "Then no. Your word has always been good enough for me."

Peter kissed the top of her head. "Go to sleep, hon. I'll take care of Neal if he wakes up."

"And now I love you even more," El muttered and closed her eyes.

Peter smiled and watched over both of them while he studied up on the capital of France.

Neal only woke up once after a couple of hours. Peter picked him up, and he managed to coax his son back to sleep by walking up and down the entire length of the plane with him. So far, flying with a baby was a breeze.

Naturally, their luck ran out when the plane landed. Neal woke up for real this time and decided that something in the air here in France was not to his liking. He began to cry and he absolutely would not stop. With a screaming baby, they made it off the plane and all the way to baggage claim, which took a while since they had their bags and the stroller and the infant seat for Neal. Then they tried to find a cab driver who wasn't put off by the still screaming baby. At the hotel, Peter needed the help of the concierge to get all their luggage up to their room because El had both of her hands full with Neal, who, yes, was still wailing at the top of his lungs. Peter made sure to tip the concierge generously.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Neal hiccupped and fell silent. El breathed a huge sigh of relief and sat on the sofa in the living area of their family suite, completely exhausted. "Sure, now that no one can give us the stink eye anymore, he stops crying," she said.

"Maybe he was just trying to help us find Neal," Peter suggested, opening their bags to start unpacking.

"By screaming so loud that all of Paris could hear us?" El asked mockingly.

"I've heard crazier theories."

El put Neal into the high chair that had come with the room and wiped the tears off his red little face. "If that's true, that was very considerate of you, sweetheart, but Daddy doesn't need your help. No, he doesn't. But I think you need something to eat, my darling, and then you and Mommy are going right back to sleep," she told him.

"Honey, you can't sleep now," Peter said. "You just slept on the plane."

"And then I hauled a protesting baby halfway across town. And it's barely six in the morning," El pointed out.

"Actually, it's just past noon," Peter corrected her. "And the best way to beat the jet lag is to adjust to the new time zone right away."

"Well, then you can call it a nap if that makes you happier," El replied while she heated up a bottle for Neal. The room was equipped for that, too. So far, it looked like it was worth the money they were paying for it. "And I think you should join us, hon. You've barely slept in the past 24 hours."

Peter was done unpacking the first bag and moved on to the second. "Nope, I'm good."

El shot him a look. "Honey, he's been dead for over a year. I don't think a few hours will make a difference now."

"I realize that. But I feel like I'm so close now, El. He could be walking down the street this very minute. Just the thought of it… it's maddening, and I couldn't possibly sleep even if I wanted to…" Peter broke off. He didn't want El to misunderstand. It wasn't like something had been missing from his life this whole time – except, it kind of had.

She walked over to him to snatch a bib from the bag he was unpacking. She also pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I know, hon. But please try to pace yourself."

"I think we both know that I know how to do that. And we are in the city of love," Peter said, grinning.

El laughed. "But we're here to look for a dead man, and we're sharing a bedroom with a six-month-old, so I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"How can I not with a wife like you?" Peter replied and stole a kiss that was a little more than a peck on the cheek.

El pulled away first. "Honey, you smell like plane."

"_I _smell like plane? Just me?" he asked.

"Yes, because I am the mother of your only child, so I'd be careful about suggesting anything else." El laughed and went back to feeding Neal while Peter sniffed his T-Shirt.

Well, a shower probably couldn't hurt. So after he was done unpacking, he showered and changed, and since El was adamant about needing more sleep, Peter left the hotel alone.

As usual, it turned out that his wife had been right. Running headfirst into this wouldn't bring Neal back. Naturally, he did not just happen to walk down the street right into Peter's waiting arms. And studying the streets of Paris on a map was very different from actually navigating them. Especially since everything was crawling with tourists. That wasn't an unusual sight. New York was the same way.

But it was strange and a little disconcerting when Peter realized that he was technically one of them now. He didn't have significantly more authority or knowledge than the Asian tour group with the funny Disney hats. No one here cared about his FBI badge. And then Peter even got a little lost, which of course he would never admit to anyone, and when he found his way back to the hotel, he was exhausted.

El and Neal were both asleep on the big bed that looked extremely comfortable. To hell with fighting jet lag, Peter thought. This would definitely require a lot of thought and planning. For now, all he could think about was to crawl into bed with his family.

They had made it to Paris. That was a good start.

* * *

The next morning (local time) they all felt more like human beings again. The hotel's breakfast selection was quite nice, and Neal, back to being all smiles and laughter, entertained half of the hotel staff and the other guests. Some of them stopped at their table, and if they were willing to speak English, Peter used that opportunity to chat them up.

"Honey, I thought we talked about using your son as a front for your investigation," El said eventually.

"I'm just making polite conversation," Peter replied, sipping his coffee. It wasn't Italian roast, but it wasn't bad.

"Asking about the most artsy places to live in the city?"

"It's a perfectly touristy question."

"Uh-huh."

"And it's not my fault Neal is so cute that people can't help being drawn to him. Isn't that right, son?" Neal was having banana mush for breakfast, and Peter wiped some of it off his cheek only to stick it onto his nose instead. Neal's howling laughter was slightly disproportionate to that silly little action. But Peter would take it. Neal's excellent mood eased his concerns about taking his son on this long trip.

El was smiling, too, as she used the bib to clean her son's face. "I think it is your fault. Where else would he have gotten his good looks from?"

"My money is on his mother who is as smart as she is beautiful," Peter replied smoothly.

El laughed. "Excellent answer."

"Good enough for me to keep… making conversation?" Peter asked.

"If you throw in another one of these amazing croissants," El nodded.

"Sure, I haven't talked to the pastry guy yet," Peter said and got up to head back to the buffet, ignoring his wife's amused eye roll.

After breakfast, they took the elevator back up to their room.

"Seriously, honey, how exactly are we going to find Neal in a city filled with two million French people and about 18 million tourists per year?" El asked after sitting with Neal on his play blanket and handing him his favorite book. "I don't think talking to everyone in this hotel is going to do the trick."

Peter unfolded a map of Paris on the table. "No, it won't, although I did hear about a few interesting places to check out," he said, marking those on the map. "I guess I'll just have to do what I do best – catch Neal Caffrey."

"Yes, but the last two or I don't know how many times you did that, you had a badge and a team behind you," El reminded him.

"True, but this time I have something better," Peter replied. Of course, he couldn't deny that not having any jurisdiction would make this a lot harder. He was still FBI, but he had a feeling that the police force here in Paris wouldn't be too impressed with that – if his dealings with Interpol were any indication.

Still, smiling down at his wife and son, he said, "I have you and Neal."

"I hate to break it to you, hon, but unless they actually share a psychic connection and he learns to talk overnight, I'm afraid our son won't be able to help you." Neal pointed to something in his book and El held it up to show it to Peter. "See, I don't think Neal is hiding out in a barn."

"Yeah, not quite up to his usual standard," Peter agreed.

El handed Neal a different toy that he could play with on his own and stood to join Peter at the table, resting a hand on Peter's back. "But for what it's worth, I would love to be on your team."

"Good, because I was counting on you being my expert in European art," Peter told her, thinking of the time his wife had spent in Europe.

"Oh, honey, that was in high school," El cautioned him.

Peter grinned at her. "I believe in you."

El looked at the map and furrowed her brow in concentration. "Okay, so how do we do this?" she asked with that spark in her eyes that always came to life when she got pulled into one of Peter's investigations.

He usually had mixed feelings about that. His first priority was always to keep her away from danger, but her contributions were often extremely valuable – and she looked damn sexy doing it.

"There are two possible angles. The first one is to figure out where Neal might be living in the city."

"But that could be anywhere!" El protested.

"Yes and no," Peter said.

"Because we know that he's not living in a barn?"

"Yes, see, that's a start," Peter nodded. "And it goes to show that we are all creatures of habit. Neal is smart. He knows to switch up his routines. But that kind of life is hard, and no one would keep doing that unless they're forced to."

"Like when Peter Burke is on their six," El suggested, and it was adorable how she tried to speak the lingo.

"Right," Peter laughed. "Which right now I don't think Neal knows. Not for sure, anyway. So he might be tempted to live more of a normal life – or what passes for normal when you're Neal Caffrey."

"He loved to cook and to know what he was cooking with. He'd be going to farmer's markets or fish markets," El said. "I'm sure we could find out where and when those are."

Peter grinned. Smart as a whip, just like he had said. "He's also used to a certain lifestyle. You can't go from that view at June's to a hole in the ground. And he keeps his inspiration close by. There'll be museums, galleries, or art studios in the vicinity," Peter continued. "Then there's his expensive taste in coffee."

"And Mozzie's wine addiction," El added.

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you?" Peter teased.

"Ha-ha. I thought it might be useful information that Mozzie used to go on and on about this special vintage he wanted to try if he ever got back to Paris."

Peter bobbed his head. "Very useful. So is Neal's penchant for wearing tailored suits."

"Or hats."

They grabbed the laptop and opened up different travel guides and started marking all those places of interest on the map. In seemingly no time at all the whole room was littered with post-it notes and the occasional children's toy in between.

"Wow, that takes me back a couple of years," El said, referring to the height of Peter's obsession with catching Neal (the first time).

"Unfortunately, it would also take us weeks and months to chase down all those leads, especially without warrants," Peter said, eyeing the now completely marked up map in awe and dismay at the same time.

"Guess I can't make up for your team after all," El sighed.

"I didn't say that," Peter disagreed, shooting her a smile. "But that brings us to the second angle."

"Which is?"

"To identify what Neal is going to steal."

El frowned. "You really think he's going to steal something again?"

"Well, he did have this," Peter dropped the newspaper article about the Louvre on the table.

"Anyone who's interested in art would be interested in the Louvre," El argued.

"Interested in the Louvre, yes. Interested in the security system at the Louvre? Not so much," Peter pointed out. "We can't kid ourselves, El. Neal faked his death and ran off to Paris, the city of art, without having to answer to anyone or anything. That's like locking a recovering alcoholic in a liquor store and throwing away the key."

Still not quite willing to accept that, El asked, "Then why hasn't he stolen anything before now? It's been a year."

"He might have. It's possible we just haven't heard about it," Peter said. "Since I'm not here on official FBI business, I can't access any reports Interpol might have on open investigations. They don't like to share, not even under the best of circumstances." He shook his head. "Neal doesn't do things halfway. His real target would have to be the Louvre, and that would take time to prepare. He'd have to find a way in first."

"Like a private gala for their most important donors and the who's who of France?" El suggested. She had kept googling while Peter had been thinking out loud.

Peter looked at her questioningly, and El turned the laptop so he could see. It was a press release announcing that the Louvre would close early this Saturday to prepare for a special gala event that night. For a few hours the Louvre would only be open to an exclusive group of people who were invited to dine at the Louvre, witness the unveiling of a new Delacroix the Louvre had acquired, and enjoy all the art without thousands of tourists stepping on each other's feet.

"I think you've missed your calling, hon," Peter said, grinning at his wife. "This has to be it. The one night a year the Louvre is open for a lot less people than usual, which also means less security. It's the only way one would even stand a chance of stealing anything and getting away with it."

"Okay, but how exactly does that help us?" El wondered.

"If we don't find Neal before then, he is definitely going to be there."

El had a look at the press release again. "Well, as an event planner, I can promise you, hon, that you're not getting in there without an invitation."

Peter knew she was right. "I might know someone who could get us an invitation. I have a few contacts here in Europe," he mused.

"In law enforcement?" El asked.

Peter nodded.

"Forget it, honey. Printing those invitations alone would have cost as much as you make in a month. You need someone with more money."

"Or," Peter said slowly, an idea forming in his head, "someone who insures other people's money."

El's brow creased. "Sara?" she asked, surprised.

"Sterling Bosch has a branch here in Paris, and..." Peter reached for the laptop and quickly called up the information he was looking for, "... they just happen to provide insurance for a couple of paintings at the Louvre."

"I guess it's worth a try," El shrugged.

Peter agreed and grabbed his phone. He didn't have to worry about the time difference anymore. Still, he paused.

"What is it, hon?" El asked.

"I'm not sure if we should really involve her in this," Peter admitted. "Technically, if we think Neal is going to steal something and we don't stop him, that makes us accessories..."

El huffed and took the phone out of his hand. "Oh, just give me that."

Before Peter could say anything else, she had already dialed. "Sara? Hi, it's Elizabeth," she greeted the other woman mere seconds later. Of course, Peter could only hear half of the conversation.

"He's good. We all are ... Actually, we're not too far from you right now. We're in Paris ... Yeah, something like that ... We'd love to see you. Any chance Sterling Bosch might have a reason to send you to France? … Don't be silly. Of course, not ... We're staying at the _Gardette_... Great, talk to you soon."

El hung up and turned back to Peter. "She'll call us back, but she thinks she can be here as early as tomorrow."

"You didn't tell her why. You lied to her," Peter said, not sure how he felt about this.

"No, I told her a version of the truth. We do want to see her. We just also need her help," El rephrased that.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You've been spending too much time with Mozzie."

"And whose fault is that?"

Neal flung his toy across the room, clearly bored with it.

"I think he needs to get out of this room," El said, picking it up again.

"I think we all do," Peter agreed.

They put their son into his stroller and ventured out into the city. What they were doing wasn't sightseeing exactly. Rather, they went to check out at least some of the places of interest they had identified earlier that morning. And Peter realized that Neal's interests weren't all that different from his wife's. They went to coffee shops and wine stores and a farmer's market, and El enjoyed herself immensely at all of those places. And they hadn't even gone inside any of the museums yet because that would have been a bit much for the baby.

He was doing very well, though, and most of the time his eyes were wide open and curious. And although El wasn't a big fan of using him in their search for his namesake, the opportunities were too good to pass up. The French didn't necessarily like Americans, but many of them liked children. So the baby opened a lot of doors for them and continued to be a great conversation starter.

Still, no sign of the other Neal. But no matter what was going to happen next, even if they wouldn't find him, every member of the Burke family had certainly done the best they could. And Peter had never expected to find him in just one day. Sure, they were on a bit of a clock. They didn't have years. But they couldn't ask too much of themselves and certainly not of the baby.

They returned to the hotel for dinner and Neal's bedtime. They rode up from the dining room in the elevator, and Peter opened the door to their room. El pushed the stroller inside, but she stopped in surprise when they both noticed that there was somebody already in the room.

Peter quickly pushed past El, but he just as quickly reined in his instincts to defend his family when he recognized the intruder. It was Sara.

With a start, Peter realized that the entire room was still littered with their research on how to find Neal. Not exactly the kind of welcome they had been hoping to give her. The look on El's face was similarly dismayed and regretful.

And the look on Sara's face... well, there was little doubt that she'd had time to inspect their room a little closer.

"Oh, good," she said with a sharp edge to her voice. "You didn't lose your child."

She held up a post-it note that read, 'Where is Neal?'

Rather misleading if you didn't have all the information.

"Care to explain this?"

* * *

A couple of minutes and several explanations later, they were all sitting on the sofa. Well, Peter and El were sitting. Sara had just jumped back on her feet.

"Are you fucking, uh, I mean, freaking kidding me?" she cried out, and it was at least a little funny that she still tried to censor herself because of the baby.

"We wish we were," Peter said. "Or, actually, we don't, because then Neal would still be dead," he added awkwardly.

"Think about it, Sara," El tried to help. "Really think about it. Doesn't this sound like something only Neal could pull off?"

Sara looked from one to the other. "You're sure about this?"

"Well, we're here..."

Sara's eyes landed on the baby as if his presence here was indeed the best proof of their commitment to this. She sank back down onto the couch. "I don't believe this..."

"Actually, you were the one who asked us if we were sure that Neal was really dead. At the wake, remember?" El reached out to place her hand on Sara's. "Weren't you hoping that we would tell you something like this?"

"Yes, but that was over a year ago! I mean... Why didn't he get in touch with us sooner? Why send you that wine now?"

"We don't know. We might never know what his reasons were exactly. Not until we find him," Peter said.

Sara huffed. "He better have a good answer."

No one could argue with that, and no one said anything for a while.

"Seriously, have you thought about what you're going to do if he doesn't? Have a good answer, I mean," Sara spoke up eventually. "Neal is... Neal. He did sit on a stolen Nazi treasure once – a treasure that got you kidnapped – and then ran off to a non-extradition island. Or did you forget about that?"

It was very clear that Sara hadn't forgotten about that. Which wasn't surprising since, as far as Peter knew, that's what had broken her and Neal up. The first time, anyway.

"Kind of hard to forget," El said. After all, it had been one of the worst experiences in both of their lives. "But Neal wasn't responsible for what Keller did."

Peter squeezed her hand. "And he only ran because the FBI was going to ship him off to Washington to lock him in a new cage – like a pet rat."

"Wow, you guys really love him," Sara noted, and it was impossible for Peter to read the look in her eyes. Jealousy, perhaps, or maybe a yearning for... something.

He also didn't know how to respond. It was El who challenged her, "Don't you?"

Sara made a face. "I think I'll plead the Fifth on that one."

"Speaking of which," Peter said. "How did you get into our room?"

"I know the concierge. I sweet-talked him into letting me in here while you were at dinner so I could surprise you," Sara explained with a shrug as if it was nothing.

Peter shook his head. "Has anyone here not learned how to commit a crime?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"I claim spousal immunity," El joked, rubbing his arm.

"See, that doesn't work in a country where I don't have any actual authority," he informed her.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Are we planning to commit a crime?"

"No!" Peter said quickly. "We're planning to stop Neal from committing another one."

"Because he's going to hit the Louvre!?" Apparently, Sara had gone through their research quite thoroughly before they had returned to the room.

"That's what it looks like. We think he's going to use that private gala they're having on Saturday," Peter told her.

"Unfortunately, it's an extremely exclusive event with a closed guest list," El added.

"And my badge isn't good enough here."

Sara wasn't dumb. She easily put two and two together. "So you were hoping that I could get you an invitation. That's why you called me."

El was quick to try and smooth things over. "We just jumped on the chance to see you again. And we thought it couldn't hurt to ask."

"Before or after you would have told me about Neal?" Sara asked, still a little miffed.

"I'm sorry, Sara. But I couldn't possibly tell you something like that over the phone!" El defended herself.

Sara seemed to consider her reaction if El had tried that. "Yeah, okay, I get that."

"So... about that invitation?" Peter pushed gently.

"Sure. I mean, I can try," Sara nodded. "I'll make a few calls tomorrow."

As if on cue, Neal began to fuss.

"It's past his bedtime," El said apologetically.

"That's all right. I should get back to my room," Sara said and stood. "I have a work thing, anyway. Officially, I'm here on business, so..."

Peter had a feeling that she really just wanted some time alone to process all of this. It was understandable. "Of course. I can walk you to your room. I need to have a word with that concierge anyway."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. And please don't be too hard on him for letting me in here. It's not like I was ever going to hurt you guys." Sara walked to the door but then stopped. "This is a good thing, right?" she asked, turning back around. "Then why do I suddenly have this need to punch somebody?"

"Because that's what love does to us sometimes," El replied, having freed Neal from the stroller and holding him in her arms.

Sara decided to just let that stand and waved them goodbye.

"You're being a little pushy," Peter told his wife when Sara had left.

El shrugged. "She and Neal were a great couple. And I know she still cares about him."

"You think there's still a chance after they've already broken up twice? I think. And that was before he faked his death."

"I don't know. But they broke up because life is complicated, not because they didn't love each other. And absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Peter walked up to her and rested his hands on her hips. "We've never been apart for long since we went on our first date," he said.

"That's because if my heart grew any fonder of you, it would probably burst." El smiled at him, and Peter had no words for what that did to his heart, but he definitely didn't want to be anywhere else.


	8. On the Hunt

Sara was still working on getting them that invitation to the Louvre, and so Peter, Elizabeth, and little baby Neal spent another day exploring the city. It was a beautiful day in Paris. The sun was out, but the temperature was in the low seventies so they didn't have to worry about Neal getting too cold or too hot.

There were times when Elizabeth could actually stop worrying and just forget about it all. No worrying about Neal (the one who wasn't her son, not by blood anyway), or her husband, or what would happen to either of them once they got back to the states. She could just be in the moment and enjoy it. She loved Europe. She loved Paris. And she loved being with her family. If she put aside their reasons for coming here, this vacation was everything she could have wished for.

Peter bought them ice cream not too far from Notre-Dame, and they let Neal have a teeny tiny taste of it. He made a funny face, and they laughed and kissed him on both cheeks. And if the other Neal had come strolling down the street in that very moment, everything would have been perfect.

He didn't, of course, and they returned to the hotel, only the three of them, just like yesterday. And once again, Sara was waiting for them, but this time she had a triumphant look in her eyes.

"I got it!" she told them, waving a card with gold lettering on thick, cream-colored paper in the air. "The invitation is in my name, obviously, but I can bring a plus-one."

Peter took the invitation to have a look at it, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when he had just found a new lead. "Excellent! Well done, Sara. Because we won't find Neal any time soon if we have to comb through all of Paris by ourselves. This is our best bet."

"Okay, but we can't just go to the gala and wait. We have to figure out his target, right?" Sara asked.

"Yes, Neal would have cased the place. We need to do the same," Peter nodded.

"Right, I think the two of you should go," Sara said. "You know Neal and his taste in art. And you have three hours left before the Louvre closes today, so there won't be too much of a wait to get in."

Elizabeth shook her head. She was glad that Sara had so much energy today and that she seemed to have recovered from the shock of last night. Or in any case, she was compartmentalizing very well. But she had no idea what it meant to have a baby on a schedule. Of course not. "We can't. We just got back, and Neal needs his dinner soon."

"I can take care of that," Sara replied, unconcerned. "Like Peter said, this is the only really good chance we have. We don't have any time to waste. You should get to the Louvre now, and when you're done, you can head over to the _Petit Bonheur,_ where I got you a table for two at eight."

"What?"

"Come on, you're in the most romantic city in Europe! Having a date night is practically mandatory. I can babysit Neal," Sara explained with a grin.

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged a surprised look. It was cute that Sara felt like doing this for them. But there were certain concerns. Elizabeth left it to Peter to voice them.

"Do you know how to babysit?" he asked.

The look on Sara's face turned a little sour. "I am a very accomplished, grown woman, and I happen to get along great with members of the opposite sex called Neal. I'm sure I can figure it out."

Neither Peter nor Elizabeth said anything at first. 'Figure it out' wasn't the level of confidence and experience they usually looked for in a babysitter. Not that there had been very many of them. And these were special circumstances. Elizabeth could tell that Peter was indeed anxious to check out the Louvre. And she hadn't dared to hope that they would even get the chance to go out, just the two of them. It really was very thoughtful of Sara, and it would have been incredibly rude not to accept this sweet gesture.

Via a quick, wordless exchange they agreed to give it a try.

"Well, if you're sure about this..."

"Of course. Give him to me," Sara insisted and held out her hands.

"Um, you might want to change first," Peter advised her. Right now, Neal looked adorable and perfectly innocent, sucking on his pacifier in his daddy's arms. But things could and would get messy when it came to feeding him, changing him, and putting him to bed.

And the fitted business dress by Hugo Boss and the complementary high heels Sara was wearing probably cost about as much as Peter's entire wardrobe for this trip. "Oh, right," Sara said after a quick look at her outfit.

"Speaking of which, did you say you got us a table at the _Petit Bonheur_?"Elizabeth asked. She had read about it in all of their travel guides. It was one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. "I don't think I brought anything I could wear to a place like that." Now that she was a mother, being impeccably dressed wasn't quite as important to her anymore as it had been before. It simply wasn't very practical.

"I think I can help with that," Sara said, smiling at her.

Elizabeth glanced dubiously at the tall, slender redhead, who looked as enchanting as ever. "Are you sure? I did have a baby you know."

"Don't be ridiculous." Sara grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. "We'll be back!" she called over her shoulder to Peter and the baby.

Peter raised Neal's little hand to wave to them, clearly happy that he wasn't expected to participate in this discussion about clothes.

Sara led them into the elevator and up to her room on the top floor. It was almost as big and spacious as the family suite Peter, Elizabeth, and Neal shared. Apparently, Sterling Bosch was quite generous when it came to their senior employee's travel expenses. Sara's closet was just as impressive.

"Wow, you brought a lot of clothes," Elizabeth said.

"I know. We all have our faults, right?" Sara replied with a sheepish smile. "On the plus side, we're definitely going to find something that will look fabulous on you. Not that that's very hard." Sara picked a dress and held it up to Elizabeth's chest. "You do know you look like a poster girl for convincing women that there's no need to be afraid that they might never look the same again after pregnancy?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Well, your body does change. There's no use sugarcoating that. And you just don't have the time to take care of yourself the way you did before."

"Then tonight should be just what you and Peter need," Sara said, laying out three dresses for her to choose from. Then she seemed to look for something she could wear.

"You know you can change your mind about this," Elizabeth said when Sara pulled out a sweater that still looked too nice to get baby spit on it.

"No, I want do this for you and Peter."

"Why?"

Sara shrugged. "It's just what friends do for each other, right?"

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed. "We're not the kind of friends who expect any favors from you. I mean, not unless it's about an investigation or whatever this is we're doing here. I'm sorry if we gave you the wrong impression. We never meant to trick you."

"No, no, it's for Neal. I understand. I do." Sara assured her. "And this is not a favor. It's..." She sighed and sat down next to Elizabeth, still holding that sweater. "You and Peter are like the only real-life perfect love story I know. I guess I'm just trying to live through you, and yes, I know how pathetic that sounds."

"I think you know that you're not pathetic – and that nothing in life is ever truly perfect," Elizabeth said, her brows furrowed.

"Yeah, but what you and Peter have comes pretty damn close. And now you're going to tell me that marriage is a lot of hard work. I know. But the important thing is you guys don't make it look like it is."

Elizabeth shrugged. "That's because it isn't. I mean, yes, there are times when I'm worried about him, or don't necessarily agree with him, or when things don't work out the way we want them to, and that is hard. But loving each other through it? That was always easy. Still is."

"Okay, but how did you know? In the beginning."

Elizabeth couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"What?" Sara asked, confused.

"Neal asked me the same thing once," Elizabeth told her.

"Oh... What did you tell him?"

"That there's a difference between loving the idea of someone and loving who they really are." Peter was an FBI agent. He had always been an FBI agent, and Elizabeth had learned to love that about him, too, for better or worse. Actually, this was probably a good time to remind herself of that.

Sara thought about her answer for a moment. "What if who they really are is going to break your heart again?"

Elizabeth sighed. She had never needed to worry about that with Peter. But she knew Neal was a different story. "For what it's worth, I don't think he ever meant to do that."

"Of course, you don't. Because you're on his side."

"I'm on both of your sides," Elizabeth corrected. "And for the record, I'm actually hoping that's the same one."

Sara snorted. "Yeah, I got that." She heaved a sigh, but then she shook it off and got back to her feet. "But tonight is about you and Peter, and I think that dress will make him go crazy, or crazier than he already is about you."

Elizabeth decided not to argue and put on the dress. It was of a beautiful dark blue fabric – which had always been her color as it brought out her eyes – with black embroidery that gave it a touch of elegance. It was snug in all the right places, probably a little more so than it would have been on Sara, and it ended just below her knees, so the height difference between them wasn't a problem.

"Wow, maybe you should keep it. My boobs never looked that good in that dress," Sara marveled.

Elizabeth wasn't quite sure what to think. Sure, part of her missed wearing beautiful clothes and dressing up like this regularly. But as a mother she couldn't help thinking that she couldn't hold her son in this – not without risking to ruin the dress. "Maybe it's a bit much since we're going to a public museum first?"

"Right," Sara agreed and handed her a shawl of the same dark blue color to wrap around her shoulders. "Now it's perfect. You have shoes right? Sexy shoes?

"What exactly do you think Peter and I will be doing tonight?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, you can have my room if..."

"Yes, I have shoes," Elizabeth said quickly before Sara could elaborate on that.

"Great! Then we're done here." Sara, too, had changed out of her dress and into a more comfortable jeans, sweater, and flats ensemble, which, actually, wasn't a bad look on her either.

They returned to the Burke's room. Neal was sitting in his high chair while Peter was hunched over the table, writing some sort of list. He was now wearing one of the suits he had brought in anticipation of having to deal with the local authorities, which was a lot harder in shorts and a T-Shirt. Elizabeth noticed that the suit was a little wrinkled in certain places from being folded into Peter's suitcase, and she made a mental note to get it pressed before the gala. If they were glamming it up, they could just as well do it properly.

For now, Elizabeth walked over to him to smooth some of those wrinkles by hand. When Peter felt her hands on him, he looked up with a smile – that widened into a grin when he took in the sight of her.

"Wow! Honey, you look amazing!"

"As opposed to the way I usually look?" Elizabeth teased him.

"No, as in I wish we would just stay in tonight so I could show you exactly how beautiful I think you are," Peter replied, but there was no need for him to prove anything. The way his eyes travelled up and down the entire length of her body was speaking volumes.

And Elizabeth actually felt the blood rush to her face, making her blush. Almost as if they were going on their first date again. Which was ridiculous, considering they had been married for over fifteen years. But also, wonderful. And it certainly did away with any, however small feelings of insecurity she might have had about the way she looked – now that some time had passed since Neal's birth and people expected her to be back to normal.

So it felt good to be wanted. Of course, Peter had never left any doubt about that, but in between bottle feedings and diaper changes, there wasn't always time to enjoy these little moments, this rush of excitement when they both realized that the attraction between them was still every bit as powerful and irresistible as it had always been.

Technically, now wasn't the time for that either. "As tempting as that sounds, we have more important things to do." Elizabeth ignored the alluring scent of Peter's aftershave and the warmth of his chest beneath her fingers as she straightened his tie. "Neal needs us," she reminded them both.

That worked. Peter sighed and placed a kiss on Elizabeth's lips that said 'I love you' in the simplest of ways. Then he turned around to grab that list he had been working on. "I know you said you know what to do," he said, offering the piece of paper to Sara. "I just wrote down a couple of things for you. What he likes and doesn't like, instructions on how to heat up his bottle, bedtime, that sort of thing. Oh, and that's my European cell number there at the top."

"You mean the one you underlined three times? Gee, Peter, thanks for pointing that out to me or I might have missed it," Sara deadpanned.

Elizabeth bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh. She understood Sara's indignation, but she was with her husband on this one. Better safe than sorry. Even if Peter might have gone a little overboard. From what Elizabeth had glimpsed of the list, it was a whole lot more than just a couple of things. How long had they been looking at dresses, anyway?

"Just trying to make sure you're both still alive when we get back," Peter defended himself and his list.

"Don't worry. I'll handle this Neal. You go handle the other one," Sara said, practically shoving them out the door.

They both stopped to kiss their son goodbye first. Then Peter took Elizabeth's hand and they walked out of the room.

Downstairs Peter had already called them a cab. When Elizabeth raised an eyebrow because she couldn't help the feeling that they were hemorrhaging money, he said, "That dress is way too fancy for the metro. I don't want a bunch of French men ogling you the entire time. And we need to get to the Louvre as fast as possible."

He could have meant because it was closing in a couple of hours, but Elizabeth knew better. "So you'll be too distracted to think about turning around and going back upstairs to check on Neal and Sara?" she asked while Peter opened the taxi door for her.

"You know me too well," Peter said with a self-deprecating grin and a quick kiss to her lips while she slid into the car.

When they were both seated and the driver pulled away from the curb, Elizabeth squeezed her husband's hand. "They'll be fine."

"Oh? Last time we went out, I practically had to drag you out of the house. And I trusted my dad a whole lot more than Sara when it comes to kids," he reminded her.

"I know, hon, but we need to learn to let go. I won't have us turn into helicopter parents."

Peter's brow furrowed. "So, that's a no on the baby anklet?"

"Definitely."

"Are you sure? Because all of this could have probably been avoided if Neal had kept his anklet on..."

"Honey, you know we're not looking for Neal just so you can bring him home and put another anklet on him, right?" Elizabeth said softly.

Peter heaved a sigh. Of course, he knew that. And he didn't actually want another anklet. He just liked knowing where Neal was. The same way he did with his wife and son. It wasn't about controlling them. Elizabeth knew that. It was about love.

"How do you keep them from getting into trouble then?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth admitted. "By setting a good example?"

Peter huffed. "Right. Look how well that turned out."

"Honey, we don't know yet how it turned out," Elizabeth tried to placate him with a hand on his thigh. "We are on our way to the Louvre to figure that out, are we not?"

The troubled look on her husband's face softened. "Yes, we are."

At the Louvre, there was still a line to get tickets, even at this hour, but it wasn't too bad. It got worse, however, when they got inside. Her teenage memory of the place had been nothing like this. Obviously, things had changed since then. The museum was packed with tourists. Of course, some rooms were more crowded than others. Still, the cacophony of voices and the high likelihood of bumping into another visitor, not to mention the sometimes rather unpleasant whiffs of different body odors, reminded Elizabeth more of Central Station than a museum. She had no idea how anyone was expected to appreciate the truly wonderful works of art on display. You probably had to become a donor or a patron so you would get invited to special events like this upcoming gala.

"You know, I always thought that if I ever got to see the Mona Lisa in person, I would actually, well, _see_ it," Peter remarked.

They had made it to the most frequented room in the museum, along with all the other tourists, and were standing off to the side because there was a large Chinese tour group in front of them and practically everyone in it tried to make a selfie with the famous painting.

"Yeah, people don't realize how small she really is," Elizabeth said. "And she has been stolen before."

"I knew that, actually," Peter nodded. "But that was in the early 20th century, wasn't it? I'm pretty sure security has improved since then." He strained his neck to see over the heads of the excitedly chattering Chinese. "That is bulletproof glass, for starters. And if you look up there in those corners and you know what to look for, you can tell that there'll be almost invisible lasers, ready to sound an alarm if you so much as lift a finger. Also, I've counted at least four guards with a probable response time of about ten to fifteen seconds."

Elizabeth's lips curled up into a smile. Watching her husband as he was hunting for clues was more interesting than looking at all the art. "You're saying it's impossible?"

"Neal taught me never to use that word, but this is pretty damn close. It's also irrelevant. Neal wouldn't go for the Mona Lisa. It's too obvious, too flashy. It lacks finesse, and it's been done before. None of that would interest him."

"What would, though? What would be his reason for doing this? Why would he steal something from the Louvre?" Elizabeth wondered.

Peter took in all the paintings and the glass ceiling with a wry grin. "Because he can."

"So, it's an ego thing?"

"Well, I don't think it's about the money. It was never really about the money with Neal. And most of these paintings are so famous, it would be extremely difficult to fence them anyway."

"Okay, if it's not the Mona Lisa..." Elizabeth tried to recall everything she knew about the catalogue of the Louvre and took Peter's hand to lead him past da Vinci's most famous work and into another longish gallery with beautiful domed ceilings. She stopped somewhere in the middle of it.

"I know this one. Looks like that musical you dragged me to for your last birthday," Peter said when he studied the painting.

"Which you liked just as much as I did," Elizabeth reminded him. "I saw the tears in your eyes at the end!"

"The theatre was very drafty," Peter said with a shrug.

Elizabeth shook her head but decided to let it go. "Anyway, this is Delacroix's 'Liberty Leading the People,' and yes, it is believed to have inspired _Les Mis,_ the Statue of Liberty, and many other artists, even in pop culture. Apart from the Mona Lisa, this painting might have the most significance. And it is also the most difficult one to forge. Neal's words, not mine," Elizabeth clarified when Peter quirked an eyebrow. "We talked about Delacroix's paintings once when Neal showed up at one of my gallery openings. Didn't you say that Neal always used to look for the next big challenge? I'm pretty sure this would be it," Elizabeth reasoned.

Peter looked from her to the painting and back again, grinning. "The highlight of the gala is the unveiling of a Delacroix that the Louvre is adding to its collection, right?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Would be quite embarrassing – to celebrate their new Delacroix only to turn around and notice that the most famous one they already had is gone. That does sound like Neal."

"Does it, though? Why would he do that? For the petty satisfaction of having outsmarted and at the same time damaged the largest art museum in the world?" Elizabeth knew that Neal was a thief. She had asked for his help and his unique skill set herself once or twice – under very dire circumstances, of course, and for what she had believed to be the right reasons. Stealing this magnificent painting from a place where other people could enjoy it was not right. And she didn't want to believe that Neal thought otherwise.

"Maybe," Peter hedged. "You know what they say about idle hands. In any case, I think you're right. This would be his most likely target. It's pretty exposed, though. No bulletproof glass, that's something, but circumventing the alarms still wouldn't be easy."

Elizabeth had never thought that she would stand in the Louvre one day and look at a beautiful painting, not to admire it but to discuss how one could possibly remove it. "So what do we do now? Talk to the police?" She asked, but the mere thought made her stomach churn.

Peter looked just as grim. "And say what? That we think an American citizen, who is officially dead, is going to steal a beloved painting from the most secure museum in the city?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't believe it myself if I didn't know any better."

"We could be wrong about all of this," Elizabeth argued.

"We could..." Peter agreed, but he didn't actually believe that. Or they wouldn't be standing here right now.

Suddenly Peter's head whipped around and he seemed to be looking for something – or someone. Then he started walking fast and disappeared into the next gallery, with Elizabeth following more slowly and somewhat confused.

"What is it?" she asked when her husband had stopped again, scanning the room with his eyes.

"I thought I heard …"

"What?"

Peter studied the faces of everyone in the room, a mix of visitors and Louvre employees just like in the last gallery. When he turned his head to meet Elizabeth's questioning gaze, the sudden tension left him again and his shoulders relaxed. "Nothing. I guess we've just been talking too much about him."

Elizabeth knew her husband well enough to know that it wasn't nothing – he still looked like he had seen or heard a ghost – but she decided not to pry. "Do you want to have a look at the rest of the museum? Or rather, would you like to check out all the possible ways in and out while I look at the rest of the art?"

Her husband chuckled and reached out to hold her hand again. "Yes, I would. And then, I'd like to take my wife to dinner."

* * *

The second his parents had walked out of the room and closed the door behind them, baby Neal began to cry.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, they are not leaving you! They are coming back. They just need some me time, you know?" Sara crouched in front of the high chair Neal was sitting in. "What am I talking about? You're a baby. Your whole world consists of nothing but me time. Okay, you need a distraction. Would you like to read a book? Well, not read, obviously, but…"

Neal showed absolutely no interest in either reading or looking at the book Sara had picked up.

"No? How about something to play with then? Look, a squeaky toy!" Sara shook her head. "Jeez, you're not a dog. Um... let's go with the cute teddy bear. Looks a bit like Mozzie, don't you think?"

Sara offered it to him and Neal actually took it. But her relief was short-lived because he tossed the bear behind him just as quickly.

"Ouch! Poor Mozzie. Okay, how about this? A keyboard that makes animal sounds. You just have to be quiet to hear them." Sara started pressing random buttons to get Neal to pay attention, but he wasn't listening and he was still crying.

"You're killing me here, kid!" Sara groaned.

Neal was unmoved.

"Okay, fine, I'm looking at the goddamn list!" She picked up the piece of paper Peter had given her. It said that another person's body heat could help to calm the baby down if he got upset for no apparent reason.

"So, you like to cuddle. That's cute," Sara said, stuffing the list into her pocket. "All right, fair warning, I'm picking you up now." Carefully, she lifted Neal out of his chair. She needed a few moments to figure out the best way to hold him securely to her chest.

"Okay, I'm holding you. I'm rocking you. You can stop crying any minute now. It says so on the list, and if you are your parent's child, you should really do what it says," Sara said in a singsongy voice while she walked in circles in the hotel room.

"On the other hand, your name is Neal, so you could also do the exact opposite of what you're supposed to do. Because that's just what you do – never mind what that does to the lives of everyone around you. I'm not sure you even deserve people like Peter and Elizabeth..."

"No, that's not true. _You_ deserve them," Sara clarified, gently stroking the amazingly soft hair on the baby's head. "You're an innocent in all this. You just bear his name. Because your parents loved him so much. Because we all loved him so much. That was his specialty, you know. Making people fall in love with him. I wonder if you can do that too."

Sara stopped talking when she realized that her voice was now the only sound in the room. Baby Neal's cheeks were still red and wet with tears, but his eyes were clear and curious and trusting. He seemed to really look at her for the first time. He lifted a tiny hand and pulled on a strand of Sara's red hair as if he had never seen such a thing before, or maybe it was the color that fascinated him. Laughter bubbled up in his throat and a look of sheer delight transformed his entire face.

"Huh," Sara muttered. "I think you can."

* * *

The _Petit Bonheur _certainly lived up to its name. Just entering the chic restaurant and being personally and charmingly welcomed by the maitre d' made Elizabeth feel good about coming here. All the other dining guests had smiles on their faces as well and seemed to be enjoying the food.

The maitre d' assisted Elizabeth with her chair when they reached their designated table by the window and offered to take her shawl, his hands and his smile lingering perhaps a second too long when he did so. Maybe it was true what they said about the French and their flirting.

"I would have done that," Peter muttered when he sat down as well.

Elizabeth laughed. "I know, hon."

The maitre d' offered them the wine menu, which was quite pricy but also sounded wonderful. Elizabeth used her high school French to ask for a recommendation. The maitre d's eyes lit up, and he happily obliged and leaned in to share his opinion on the best choices.

"I feel like I should give you two the room," Peter said, watching the waiter leave with furrowed brows.

"I'm sure he flirts with every woman who walks in here," Elizabeth waved it off. She had never been interested in men who were such obvious flirts. Clearly – since Peter had never been one of them. "That's probably expected of him."

Peter made a face. "I would be terrible at that job."

"You can be charming if you want to be."

"Only with you," Peter said.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "That's what makes it so charming."

They smiled at each other across the table, but the maitre d' returned with their wine and the actual menus. And even though she hadn't asked this time, he lingered to recommend the food that would go best with the wine. His eyes were on Elizabeth the entire time.

"Maybe I should have ordered beer and a burger to scare him off," Peter said after they had placed their actual orders.

"Can you please ignore the waiter and just enjoy this place?" Elizabeth begged him.

Peter shot her a grin. "You can't fault me for keeping an eye out for French men who would try to steal you away from me."

"As if that was even remotely possible," Elizabeth replied and reached across the table, resting her hand on the crisp white tablecloth with her palm up. When Peter covered her hand with his own, she said, "I wanted to thank you, actually." And this felt like the perfect place to do it.

Her husband leaned in closer, looking curious.

"For being there for me and the baby 100 percent, just like you said you would," Elizabeth explained.

"Did you really doubt that?" Peter asked, no longer joking.

"I never doubted that you would want to. But being an FBI agent is in your blood. It's who you are, and I love that about you. But I thought it would be harder for you to choose between the FBI and being a father. To make that choice every day."

Peter shook his head. "It was never a choice. One look at Neal and that was it. Just like with you."

The smile on Elizabeth's face reached all the way to her eyes. "See, I told you you can be charming."

They shared a quick kiss since a maitre d' who flirted brazenly with his customers could hardly complain about a little PDA.

When Peter relaxed back into his chair, he asked, his brow creasing, "So, is this really just a thank you or a gentle reminder not to lose focus now that I'm chasing Neal again?"

"Now that _we're_ chasing Neal," Elizabeth corrected him, still smiling. "I never would have stopped you from doing this. Even if this wasn't personal. Because I know this is what you love, and you should. You're so good at it."

Peter grinned at her. "You're enjoying your time as a member of my team, aren't you?"

Elizabeth laughed. "I was always on your team, hon," she informed him. "But yes, it's been fun to watch you work, not just talk about your cases over dinner. I'm glad I'm not coming with you to the gala, though."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't know what to do. Are you really going to arrest him – again?"

Peter watched the wine swirl in his glass. "Technically, I can't arrest him. I don't have any jurisdiction."

"So, you're going to let him get away with it then?" In her heart of hearts, Elizabeth knew she would probably do that if it were up to her. As much as she cared about the art, she cared about Neal more. She just wanted him home. And safe. But that didn't sound like something her husband would do.

He heaved a sigh. "I don't know, El. I guess I'll figure it out when I see him. _If_ I see him," he corrected.

"You will."

"You're sure about that, huh?"

"Well, I did help you figure this out," she replied with a grin.

Peter's expression sobered. "Unless we're completely wrong about all of it, and I dragged you all the way over here for nothing."

Elizabeth was about to respond when something flashed in the corner of her eye. It was such a small glimpse, it barely even qualified as fleeting. But for that second, she was certain she had seen a short, very familiar, bespectacled, and balding man walk right past the window outside.

She sat up straight in her chair, poised to jump out of it but still frozen in surprise.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Peter asked, immediately noticing the change in her demeanor.

"Mozzie!"

"What?"

"I just saw him outside!" Elizabeth explained.

Peter quickly turned his head towards the window, but Mozzie was no longer there. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! Come on, honey, we have to follow him!" Elizabeth said, finally getting to her feet.

"What? But we didn't even have dinner yet," Peter protested.

Elizabeth couldn't believe that he cared about the food right now. "Mozzie could lead us to Neal," she insisted before she hurried outside.

Leaving Peter with no other option than to leave a bunch of cash on the table and follow her. With that kind of behavior, they could probably never come back here, and Elizabeth would have felt bad about that, but she had something more important on her mind.

Out on the street, she turned in every direction and spotted the man she had seen disappear around a corner. She grabbed Peter's hand and dragged him down the street with her.

* * *

For a little while, Sara Ellis actually thought about reconsidering her decision not to have children.

She had heated up a bottle for little Neal – and yes, she had checked the temperature a gazillion times. There was no need for her to stress, though. As soon as she sat on the couch with the baby in her lap and offered him the bottle, he drank the whole thing without making a fuss. He merely paused every now and then and got a little distracted – usually because he was laughing at something that had caught his attention – and that was simply too adorable to scold him for it.

As Neal was drinking, he looked up at her, and though he didn't know Sara all that well, he seemed completely devoted to her in that moment. Well, she was the one feeding him, but still... it did something to her.

And this wasn't even her baby. Now that she had ample time to look at the little boy, Sara could tell that he had Peter's nose and that he would have his strong chin one day, but his eyes and the soft lines of his face and cheekbones took after Elizabeth. Sara could only imagine what it would feel like to look at such a sweet face and see a piece of yourself in it.

On the other hand, she did not need to imagine what it felt like to lose such a child because she had seen firsthand what it had done to her parents when her sister had gone missing. Nope. She definitely had no intention of going there again.

Not even for the sweetest, most adorable little face she had ever seen.

Also, it was a lot less adorable when he left her a very, very stinky diaper afterwards. And as soon as Sara had laid the baby on his back and removed said diaper – wondering what to do with it since it smelled like a biohazard – he suddenly started peeing all over the place. Sara yelped, torn between taking cover and trying to stop this disaster from getting any worse.

Now, _that_ would have been a useful warning to put on that damn list. But Peter was probably too proud of the forceful stream that his son was producing in a wide arc. Little Neal, too, was giggling. Men...

Cleaning that up took forever, and so Sara fell behind on the bedtime schedule. "Well, you're not going to tell your parents, are you, Neal?" she whispered when she finally placed him in his crib.

Neal looked up at her, and Sara could have sworn that he winked at her too.

* * *

As it turned out, chasing someone on foot in the dark in a city she hardly knew – with only unofficial FBI training by her FBI husband who had once made her read the FBI handbook – was harder than it looked like on TV.

It wasn't long until Elizabeth had to stop. "I think I lost him," she was forced to admit.

Peter had followed her without saying much. Now, Elizabeth began to suspect that he had just been humoring her.

"Well, honey, your chances of catching up to him weren't very good to begin with," he said.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't believe me."

"I do believe you. But he had a head start, and he knows this city better than we do. And he was always good at spotting a tail," Peter tried to placate her.

"We're not a tail. We're his friends."

"I thought you were hoping that he would lead us to Neal?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. "Okay, so maybe we were tailing him," she admitted, and Peter smirked. "And now we're lost. I'm sorry, hon." The cold night air made her shiver. She had left her shawl at the restaurant. Well, Sara's shawl, which only made this so much worse.

"We're not lost," Peter said, about to shrug out of his jacket. "I..." he paused in the middle of his sentence and his movement. "I see him," he then said, sounding just a little bit too surprised.

Elizabeth whirled around in the direction her husband was facing, and she saw him too. Mozzie was just exiting a specialty food store on the other side of the street that was still fairly busy even at this hour.

She was just about to open her mouth, when Peter grabbed her and pulled her away from the street until they were melting into the shadows of the house behind them, one of Peter's hands holding Elizabeth tightly to him, with her back pressed against his chest, the other gently covering her mouth.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched Mozzie have a good long look around before deciding in which direction to go next, two bags filled with French delicacies swinging by his side.

What the hell were they even doing? Spying on their friends? Trying to deceive each other? This had been fun in the beginning, but now it was downright crazy. Elizabeth was sure that Peter could feel the rapid beat of her heart, but her husband was perfectly calm. Not even the fact that their bodies were pressed flush against each other seemed to distract him. His eyes were on the other side of the street.

Finally, he removed his hand from Elizabeth's mouth and brought his lips to her ear. "_Now_ we can follow him," he said quietly.

A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Well, she had volunteered to replace her husband's FBI team so he could still be Agent Burke. Perhaps she was about to see what that really looked like.

In a reversal from earlier, it was now Peter who took the lead, and Elizabeth would readily admit that it looked more professional when he did it. Which was good because Mozzie's movements became increasingly erratic. Holding Peter's hand, Elizabeth tried to keep up and not slow him down, but her feet were beginning to hurt. When Sara had talked her into wearing 'sexy shoes,' she hadn't considered all the walking they would be doing.

The longer they were hiding in the shadows, the more ridiculous Elizabeth felt. Finally, Mozzie entered a cute little wine bar and sat alone at the bar.

"Do you think he's going to meet Neal in there?" Elizabeth asked excitedly.

"Maybe. Or he knows he's being followed and wants to wait us out," Peter replied.

"So, what do we do now?"

"We wait."

Peter led her over to a bench that was well hidden behind a tree in full bloom but still allowed for a good view of the bar.

Elizabeth was glad to be sitting, except it reminded her that she was cold. She scooted closer to her husband. "I know I suggested following him, but isn't this silly? Why don't we just go over there and ask him about Neal?"

"Do you think he would tell us the truth?"

She wanted to say yes, but she hesitated. She cared deeply for Mozzie, but she knew, when push came to shove, he would choose Neal, just like she would always choose Peter. Never mind that there shouldn't be any reason to have to choose between the two. But if Mozzie thought that he would be betraying Neal's confidence by telling them anything, he wouldn't say a word. Considering he had disappeared without a word, too, that was the most likely outcome.

"He could deliver a message at least. There's no harm in that," Elizabeth said.

"Unless Neal decides to run," Peter argued.

"He wouldn't do that... Would he?"

Peter didn't respond, and Elizabeth huffed and leaned back against the cold, hard bench. She was beginning to hate everything about this situation, but she trusted Peter if he thought waiting was their best option.

"Honey, don't stare at him the entire time. It's too obvious," Peter advised her gently.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

Peter placed two fingers under her chin and turned her head towards him so he could kiss her. It helped to ease the knots in her stomach, and she wasn't so cold anymore either.

"Is this what your stakeouts usually look like?" Elizabeth whispered against Peter's lips.

"Nah, Jones isn't nearly as good a kisser as you," he replied.

And Elizabeth laughed and rested her head on her husband's shoulder.

Peter finally gave her his jacket to keep her warm, always keeping a discreet eye on the bar as well. Mozzie showed no signs of wanting to go anywhere, and Elizabeth had to watch him drink several glasses of delicious wine. By now, she thoroughly regretted that they hadn't gotten to finish that nice bottle they had ordered at the _Petit Bonheur._

She was getting sleepy – she probably wouldn't have made a good FBI agent after all, falling asleep on the job like that – when Peter's phone startled her awake.

He answered it quickly, still focused on his mark, but that focus slipped when he heard whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying. "Did you take his temperature?" Peter asked and listened for only a few seconds before he turned towards Elizabeth. "Honey, did we bring a thermometer?"

Elizabeth sat up straight, instantly alarmed. "What? Why? Is something wrong with Neal?"

"Sara thinks he's running a bit of a fever."

Shoving down the panic that grabbed a hold of her heart as best as she could, Elizabeth tried to think. "Um, yes, it's, uh, in the blue bag in the bathroom... the one with the panda on it!"

Peter relayed that information to Sara. "... Yes ... we're on our way ... thank you, Sara." He hung up the phone and stood.

Elizabeth followed his example. "What are we going to do about...?" She turned back towards the bar and stopped mid-sentence.

Mozzie was gone.

And not just gone to the men's room. The bartender was just removing his empty wine glass, collecting the money Mozzie had left, and wiping down the counter.

It had taken only a two-minute phone call to lose him out of their sight.

Somehow, Elizabeth wasn't even surprised.

For about a millisecond, Peter seemed to consider crossing the street to see if he could still catch up with Mozzie, but then he shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said hoarsely. "Let's go."

And Elizabeth couldn't have loved him more for being so singularly focused on getting them back to their sick child.

They walked towards the nearest metro station, but, luckily, they got a taxi before then. This time, Elizabeth would have been willing to pay any amount of money to get home to her son faster.

She had expected the worst, but back at the hotel she was pleasantly surprised to find that Sara and Neal were both a little red in the face, but neither one of them was crying.

"Oh, hi, you got back here fast," Sara greeted them and stood to hand over the baby to Elizabeth right away. "I don't think it's anything serious, though. He had his bottle, and I put him to bed, and he seemed okay, but then he woke up about an hour ago and he was really fussy, and I noticed that he felt a bit warm," she told them what had happened.

"I found the thermometer, and he has a temperature of 101.6, which, according to everyone on the internet, isn't cause for immediate concern, especially if he's mostly fine otherwise. And I think he is. He cried a little, so I gave him another bottle. You know, to keep him hydrated. And he drank that, too. So, yeah, I'm sure he's going to be fine."

Elizabeth was gently rocking Neal in her arms, with a hand resting on his head that did feel too warm, but his eyes were clear and he was alert enough to recognize her and Peter, who was standing right behind her. She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Sara. "Thank you, Sara. Thanks for taking such good care of him."

"Told you I could do it," she winked at them. "But I figured you would want to know that he's running a little fever. I hope I didn't ruin your night."

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged a look, thinking of Mozzie and the Delacroix painting and everything else. "You didn't. Thank you for calling us. Fill you in tomorrow?" Peter suggested.

"Sure," Sara agreed, probably at least somewhat relieved to no longer be responsible for the baby. "See you at breakfast."

When Sara had left, Peter and Elizabeth both fussed over their son for a while, taking his temperature again, but it hadn't gone up, which was good. After some more fussing, they even got Neal to go back to sleep. It would probably be a restless night for all of them, but Elizabeth was no longer tired anyway.

Actually, she was hungry. She hadn't eaten anything in hours. Her stomach was rumbling so loud even Peter could hear it. Wordlessly, he got up and ordered room service.

Elizabeth raised both eyebrows when she saw what he had ordered for them. Beer and burgers.

"I've had enough of French wine and French men flirting with my wife for one night," he explained.

"Well, you'll be going to that fancy gala with another woman, so you can do all the flirting you want," Elizabeth replied, but she couldn't even finish that sentence with a straight face. The only way Peter was going to flirt with anyone at that gala was by accident.

"I'm glad my inability to talk to other women amuses you," Peter said, his eyes twinkling.

Elizabeth laughed, and they ended up eating on the floor right next to the crib where their son was sleeping so they could watch over him.

"Not quite the date night Sara had in mind," Peter said when they had both sated their hunger.

"No, but at least I finally got to go on a stakeout with you," Elizabeth replied. "I'm sorry it wasn't more successful."

Peter shook his head. "I think it was. Seeing Mozzie is the best proof we could have hoped for that Neal is here. I know he's going to be at the Louvre for that gala. I can feel it in my gut." And that certainty seemed to instill him with new confidence.

He grinned at his wife. "And you could have joined one of my stakeouts anytime."

"I don't think I would have been as helpful as the rest of your team," Elizabeth said with a chuckle.

"Mhm, but you smell a lot better." Peter brushed the remnants of their dinner aside. "I forgot. Did I tell you how spectacular you look in that dress?" He tucked a strand of Elizabeth's hair back behind her ear to look at her better, and then that hand trailed down her neck and shoulder, 'accidentally' pushing the straps of her dress and her bra over her shoulder along the way.

Elizabeth glanced at her son. He was still sleeping, hopefully sleeping off this fever, and he looked like he was going to be out like a light for a while. Her lips curled up into a smile. "You may have. Did I tell you that watching you being on the hunt today was actually kind of sexy?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "I also watched you plan how to steal a painting from a museum and run out of a restaurant without paying," he said, moving in closer. "Guess I should be chasing you then."

Elizabeth stood and after pushing down the second strap of her dress, she gave it a little tug so she could shimmy out of it. She now stood before him in nothing but her sexy shoes – as Sara would call them, maybe the name was appropriate after all – and her underwear. Since the straps of her bra were already hanging loosely by her side, she quickly got rid of that too.

"Well, I'm right here, Agent Burke," she purred.

Peter drank in the sight of her, like he wanted to devour her whole. Which was probably not too far off, considering how long it had been since they had been in the position to really do this – without interruptions, compromises, being pressed for time, or Elizabeth still feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. And while in this moment, she was still a mother worried about her slightly feverish child, she was also a woman very much in love with her husband.

Who had been wonderfully supportive and extremely patient through all of it. But now Peter was clearly done being patient. He stood quickly and gently pushed her back onto the bed. "You should know…" he said huskily, pinning down her hands on the pillow above her head. "… that once I start chasing someone, I never stop." He started kissing his way down her jaw and neck, teasingly skimming her taut breasts, and still drifting lower.

"And what..." Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat when Peter's lips reached the apex of her thighs and he deftly got rid of her panties. "... happens after?"

"After what?" Peter asked with a growl that was almost possessive in nature, as he took control of her very core and every nerve there throbbing with pleasure.

"After you've caught them," Elizabeth managed to respond, her face now flushed with waves of heat that the experienced strokes of Peter's tongue were sending throughout her entire body.

"Then I get to keep them in this bed with me forever," Peter teased, and Elizabeth couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to lose control just yet.

She pulled him back up to her face so she could kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue, and quickly got his clothes out of the way too. Being married for so long, they knew each other inside and out. But having a baby changed things. Mostly for Elizabeth, of course, but both of their feelings seemed to have intensified. Maybe because of the wait or maybe because now they knew that this, their love, had been potent enough to give life to their son. So trailing her fingers along the length of her husband gave them both a thrill as if this was their first time together.

He had been so gentle with her then. And he would have been gentle with her now, but Elizabeth didn't need him to be gentle anymore. And Peter didn't need a lot of convincing to pick up the pace and bury himself deeply within her, causing Elizabeth to suck in a gasp of air.

Yes, her body had changed after childbirth, but thankfully not in the way she and Peter fit together, she thought as she relished the feeling of him inside of her. Peter paused to make sure she was really okay, but the only pain Elizabeth felt stemmed from the need to be closer still. So she ground her hips a little, and with a bit of a smug smile on her lips she watched how her movement elicited a guttural moan from Peter and made his eyes darken with desire. Seeing her smile, he roughly captured her mouth with his own, and Elizabeth let him have it, let him have all of her.

She curled her legs around him, her hands gliding over the strong muscles in Peter's back as they began to move together. Their bodies instantly found an intimately familiar rhythm, everything intertwined from their hands to their hearts.

Later, when their breaths were still a little ragged and their skin slick with sweat, Elizabeth rolled onto her side and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Peter's throat. "Thank you," she whispered.

His chest rumbled as he laughed. "Give me a few minutes and we can go again."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him. "Not for that. For always making me feel beautiful."

Peter pushed her hair out of the way that stuck to her face and neck. "You're thanking me for the easiest things today."

"Maybe because whatever comes next won't be so easy," she said thoughtfully.

Her husband looked surprised that she was already thinking about that while he was still completely engulfed in the afterglow of what had just happened between them. But even before becoming a mother, Elizabeth had been a multi-tasker.

Peter wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. "Whatever happens, we will always be okay," he promised her, his voice deep and reassuring, and the protectiveness and intimacy of his embrace helped to put Elizabeth's mind at ease, albeit not completely.

She could only pray that Peter was right and that their love was indeed strong enough to match whatever was coming their way.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know, still no Neal sightings. But a certain gala at the Louvre is coming up next, and if Peter's gut is to be believed... well, I hope you all stay tuned. As always, feedback is much appreciated. **


	9. Confessions

**A/N: Here we go. I really hope you like this one. Let me know if you do, or even if you don't, ha. I love to hear from you. **

* * *

"Be safe. Don't open the door for anyone!"

El rolled her eyes. "Honey, I'm not the one going to this gala to find Neal and keep him out of trouble."

Peter knew that, but, dressed in his freshly pressed suit and ready to leave, he suddenly realized that he had gotten used to not letting his wife and child out of his sight these past few days.

A knock on the door announced Sara's arrival, and El went to open it.

"Honey, what did I just say?" Peter admonished her.

El ignored him and opened the door with her free hand. The other one was holding Neal on her hip. He was still a little warm, but it looked like only a mild infection he was fighting, and it didn't seem to bother him all that much.

"You ready?" Sara asked. She shot Neal a smile but kept her distance. Wise choice, since she was wearing a floor-length black dress that was very tight except for a slit that went all the way up to her left thigh, to allow for better movement Peter supposed. A diamond necklace and matching earrings glittered around her exposed neck, immediately catching the baby's interest.

Quickly, El took a step back so Neal couldn't grab a hold of Sara. "Wow, Sara, you look absolutely stunning! Doesn't she, hon?"

Peter's brow creased. "Is that a trick question?"

El shook her head at him, but she didn't press him for an answer.

"Thanks," Sara smiled. "And thanks for letting me borrow your husband to be my date tonight."

"Oh, well, since you already borrowed him once to stage an affair, I'm just glad you're keeping your clothes on this time," El replied lightly.

Peter groaned. "Can we please not talk about that in front of Neal? Or ever?"

"Okay, time to go!" Sara decided and stepped back out into the hall.

Before following her, Peter stopped to kiss El and Neal goodbye.

"Good luck, hon," El said, serious this time. "Bring him home to us."

"I'll try," Peter promised her.

"Don't try," El demanded. "Be the Agent Peter Burke who would stop at nothing, not even taking those ridiculous pictures, to close a case."

Looking into her deep, blue eyes – an endless reservoir of strength and love whenever he needed it – Peter nodded.

He had called ahead for a cab so he and Sara didn't have to wait in the lobby and quickly got on their way.

"Okay, so how are we going to play this?" Sara asked quietly when they were both seated in the back and the taxi was weaving its way through the streets of Paris at night that were glittering with lights.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Whose side are we on? Neal's? Or, you know, not breaking the law?" Sara put it bluntly.

Peter sighed. "I'm hoping we don't have to choose."

"Yeah, but how are the odds of that actually happening?" Sara pushed.

"You don't have a lot of faith in Neal, do you?" Peter asked in return.

Just like she had done every time, Sara recoiled from the question. "I'm only being realistic. Somebody has to."

"Well, we might not even have a lot of options since we're operating without backup, jurisdiction, or my service weapon," Peter pointed out. "But just for the record, I'm not asking you to break any laws. Certainly not for me, and not for Neal either. He's not..."

"... worth it?" Sara finished his sentence questioningly. "Who doesn't have faith in him now?"

"He's responsible for his own actions," Peter amended. "And he wouldn't want you to get sucked in."

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "You pulled me into this!"

"You don't have to stay," Peter said, and he was dead serious about this. "As soon as we're inside, you can leave."

Sara snorted. "Right. As if."

"I mean it, Sara."

"I know you do. But I'm not Elizabeth. You don't have to protect me. I can take care of myself. And quite honestly? I have a lot less to lose than you do."

Peter looked at the woman whose temperament was as fiery as her hair and chuckled darkly. "How about we make sure that no one loses anything tonight?"

"Sounds like a plan," Sara agreed with a grin.

The Louvre was beautifully illuminated against the night sky and it looked like a different building without hundreds of backpack-wearing and selfie-making tourists swarming about. Now it looked old and imposing. It seemed to advertise exactly what kind of treasures were hidden inside.

First, they had to make their way through security however. Peter paid close attention, even though it was unlikely that Neal would come through here. Sara's invitation and her Sterling Bosch ID were looked at first and then Peter had to show his badge, which was met with a couple of raised eyebrows. Only then their names were checked off on two different guest lists. Sara's little clutch purse was scanned, and they both had to walk through a metal detector before they were finally permitted to join the other guests.

The gala was exactly the kind of event Peter hated with every fiber of his being. Sure, the Louvre looked magnificent and the decorations were impressive. One of the large halls had been turned into a dining room. It glittered with golden tables and chairs, the cutlery was polished to perfection, and the centerpieces filled the room with a pleasant floral scent. El would have loved it. But El wasn't here. And there were no other familiar faces either. Only a bunch of happily and noisily chattering people in their best finery with waiters crisscrossing from one end of the room to the other.

"Sara!" A slightly overweight man in his fifties walked up to them. "I didn't know you were coming!" he called out way too loudly. Peter guessed that he was here for the open bar.

And judging from the look on Sara's face, she wasn't exactly pleased to see him. "It was a last-minute decision," she replied.

The man's beady eyes went from her to Peter. "And who's this?"

"This is... Peter," Sara replied somewhat haltingly.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you. I didn't know you were married!" the man said, catching both Peter and Sara by surprise. But Sara was indeed wearing a diamond ring, probably to go with her necklace, and of course Peter never took off his wedding ring unless he was going undercover.

"Oh no! We're not..."

"Come, come, you have to sit with us!" Sara got interrupted, and without waiting to see if they were following or not, the man headed back to his table.

Sara gave Peter an apologetic look. "Sorry about that. I worked for him when I was still in New York."

"That's all right. I wasn't planning on eating anything anyway," Peter said.

Unfortunately, he learned that all the guests in fact had to sit and eat before they would be allowed to see the rest of the museum. So Peter was forced to sit through a dinner with Sara's old boss, who remained convinced that he and Sara were married.

"You know, if you weren't so happily married to a woman I happen to really like, I would think that the universe is trying to tell us something," Sara whispered between the appetizer and the main course.

Peter grimaced. "Just don't tell El about this."

All the while he barely listened to a word Sara's boss was saying and kept his eyes on the doors leading out of this room, wondering if Neal was out there right now. But with the cameras everywhere that seemed unlikely.

Finally, dinner was winding down and the guests were invited to wander the halls of the museum. Some chose to get seconds or opted to stay near the open bar. Not unlike normal tourists, everyone else sought out the Mona Lisa, which, incidentally, was also where the new Delacroix addition was supposed to be unveiled soon. Everyone – except for Peter and Sara. They also made their way to the Denon alley on the first floor but they didn't enter room six.

"Not to question you or Elizabeth but... we're the only ones here," the latter said when they came to stand in front of 'Liberty Leading the People'. The painting was untouched. The entire hallway empty except for them.

"That's the point," Peter replied, but he made his voice sound more convinced than he actually was. It was a trick he had learned when he had been promoted to supervisory agent. The most important thing was always to inspire confidence in the people he was leading. Otherwise, the entire mission could fall apart before it had even started.

Speaking of falling apart, from one second to the next the relative calm of the museum was suddenly sliced in two by a blaring alarm that was loud enough to knock over any potential thief. At almost the exact same time all the lights in the museum just went out.

Plunged into sudden darkness, Sara reached for Peter's arm. "Oh my God, he's here," she breathed.

Overhead speakers crackled with rapid-fire French that Peter couldn't understand, but he assumed that they were being told not to panic and to stay where they were or something like that. Not that there was anywhere to go. All the doors leading out of the museum should have been sealed automatically as soon as the alarm sounded.

Most of the guests were already in one place anyway – clustered around the Mona Lisa. Their panicked questions were answered with sharp commands from the museum's security staff, creating a jumbled mess of voices. There was one voice, however, that rose above all the ruckus. It was, in fact, loud enough to still be heard where Peter and Sara were standing down the hall around the corner.

The voice was familiar. The words themselves were not because they were in French. But there was no mistaking this kind of almost deranged rant, no matter the language.

Peter's brow furrowed. "That sounds more like..."

"Mozzie," they said at the same time.

Mozzie's voice was nearly drowned out by the Louvre response team but not quite. Peter knew from personal experience that Mozzie never ran out of steam when it came to spewing conspiracy theories or similarly lunatic accusations against the government or anyone else. He was like a twisted, deeply pessimistic and disturbingly paranoid twin of The Little Engine That Could.

"Do you think he's in trouble?" Sara asked in a hushed voice.

"When is he not in trouble?" Peter replied drily.

"Should we take a look?" Sara wondered. She was clearly itching to go where the real action was.

And Peter was just fine with that. "You go and see if Mozzie needs help. I'll stay."

Sara hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded and walked away slowly, using the dim emergency lighting to find her way.

Peter watched her go. He wanted to know what the hell was going on just as badly. This was one of the most secure museums in the world. There was a chance that Mozzie had indeed underestimated it and slipped up. But in all the years Peter had known Mozzie, he had always found a way out, proving to be just as elusive as the conspiracies he loved so much. And more often than not, he had provided Neal with an excellent distraction.

So, as hard as it was to listen to all that yelling, in French no less, Peter's gut told him that he was still in the right place. One look into the upper corners of this hallway where little red lights had gone out confirmed it. Whatever – or _whoever_ – had killed the lights, had disabled the cameras at the same time.

Suddenly Peter was perfectly calm.

He took a step back, stepping behind the thin rope that was meant to stop people from getting too close to the paintings. But the closer he stood to the wall, the more difficult he was to spot in the darkness. Because someone was approaching him. Someone in the uniform of a Louvre employee, and the last thing Peter needed right now was a discussion about whether he was allowed to be here or not.

But there was something strange about this particular employee. He was pushing a dinner wagon, which was odd because there was no food served here, and this was definitely not the fastest way to the kitchens. More importantly, he didn't seem to care about the blackout in the least. He wasn't just unconcerned. He moved with an easy swagger as if he was exactly where he had meant to be.

He stopped the wagon only a couple of feet away from Peter and turned on a flashlight. The sudden brightness burned Peter's eyes, and he was forced to look away for a second. When the afterimage had faded, the flashlight illuminated a face that was a masterpiece in itself. With that strong chin, the nearly symmetrical, chiseled cheekbones, startling blue eyes, and rich brown hair that was slightly tousled and yet perfectly in place, it made even the carefully painted faces on the canvasses in this hallway pale in comparison.

More importantly, it was a face that Peter had thought he would never see again.

Yes, he was here because all the evidence and all his instincts had led him here. Because he had eliminated the impossible, and so whatever remained had to be the truth. But in his heart of hearts, Peter couldn't deny that a huge part of it had just been wishful thinking. No matter how certain he had been, knowing wasn't seeing.

And now Peter saw.

"Neal?!"

His voice echoed slightly in the empty hallway, grappling with all the different emotions it carried, before it was swallowed up by the darkness.

But the dark didn't last long. When Neal turned his head, he also shone the flashlight directly into Peter's eyes. Momentarily blinded, Peter thought with an irrational jolt of fear that Neal would simply disappear on him again.

"Peter?!"

Neal's voice betrayed a mix of disbelief and amusement, and when he lowered the flashlight and Peter could see again, it was hard to say who looked more shocked.

Although, Peter really shouldn't have been. Of course, you needed to play the long game to rob a place like the Louvre. Luckily, Neal would have had nothing but time after faking his death. And if you added his good looks, his knowledge of art, and his ability to charm the pants off everyone he met, the easiest way to get inside the Louvre was to let them hire you.

So Peter hadn't imagined hearing Neal's voice during his visit the other day! Neal must have been working, and they had almost run right into each other. If only Peter hadn't given up so soon or if he'd had access to his FBI resources, he would have been able to figure this out sooner. Not end up in the bloody mess they were in now.

Still, mess or not, it was damn good to see him – really and truly alive.

"It really is you. I can't believe you're actually here," Peter was the first one to speak again.

"I could say the same thing," Neal pointed out, unapologetic as always.

"You sent me that bottle of wine!" Peter reminded him.

"I didn't think you would jump on the next plane and come to Paris," Neal said with a little shrug.

Peter took a quick step forward. "I thought you were dead! If there was even a one-in-a-million chance to see you again, of course I had to get on the next plane!" he said forcefully.

Neal looked taken aback, pained even. "Peter..." he said slowly, and then "... I'm sorry, but this is really not a good time for me to catch up." He reached for a bag hidden in the dinner wagon that was filled with tools of the decidedly illegal variety.

"Neal, what are you doing?" Peter asked sharply.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Neal positioned the flashlight so it illuminated the Delacroix painting and picked up the tools with his gloved hand.

"It looks like you're about to steal a multi-million-dollar painting," Peter said, and it didn't feel like a victory that he and El had predicted this. "I'm standing right here, Neal!" he snapped.

"I can see that," Neal nodded, though he was focused on choosing the right tools rather than looking at Peter. "Nice suit, by the way. Elizabeth pick it out?" he asked cheekily.

Just like that Peter was beginning to wonder why he had wanted him back in the first place. "That's not funny, Neal. You know what El also picked out? The suit for your funeral!"

Neal paused long enough to shoot him a look, his eyebrows raised. "I'm sensing some pent-up anger there, and we should definitely talk about that, but later would really work better for me."

"Because you'll be in jail?" Peter asked bluntly. "Again."

"I've heard that orange is the new black now, but no," Neal replied unconcerned. "This... is actually not what it looks like."

Peter snorted. "Really? That's what you're going with?"

Neal shrugged. "Can't go wrong with the classics." He stepped up to the painting.

And Peter stepped up to him and reached out to grab Neal's arm but then thought better of it and let his hand drop to his side again. "I can't let you do this, Neal!" he said, but it sounded less like a warning and more like he was, at best, reasoning and, at worst, pleading with him.

He really didn't want to arrest him. Not this time. And he hated that Neal was forcing his hand. Which yes, considering their history, was slightly ironic.

Neal looked from the clenched fists at Peter's side back to his face. "Technically, you're not letting me do anything. You're not an FBI agent here, Peter. You don't make the rules."

Unfortunately, Neal was right. Peter didn't have his gun or his cuffs. If he wanted to stop Neal, he would have to overpower him, physically and forcefully, which he so did not want to explain to El later. Alternatively, he could have called security, but right now that would probably get them both arrested since Peter looked like an accomplice. He felt like one too. He had known that this was about to happen after all. So had El and Sara. And they absolutely could not go down for this.

"Goddammit, Neal!" Peter cursed under his breath.

There was a fleeting smile on Neal's lips before he used Peter's temporary indecision to cut the painting out of its frame, carefully but quickly – or maybe expertly was the right word for it. He then rolled up the original painting, placed it on the wagon, and pulled out a second canvas that would most likely turn out to be a perfect forgery when looked at with the lights on.

"It's still stealing, even if you leave behind a fake one," Peter informed him darkly.

"You might be surprised. The French can be quite revolutionary in their thinking," Neal replied as he fitted the forged painting into the original frame.

Peter glared at him. "You realize that this is not a game, don't you? There really is no coming back from this!" He tried to swallow his anger and disappointment and appeal one last time to the man he knew Neal could be. "Don't do this!"

Neal finally turned towards him, but his work was done anyway. "I already told you it's not what it looks like. I need you to trust me, Peter," he said, and he had the audacity to turn the full force of his blue eyes on him.

As if Neal's word had ever been good enough, as if Peter had ever owed him anything! Had they ever really had trust? Had they not been trapped in an endless holding pattern of having each other's backs and then turning around to keep secrets again? When Neal had drawn up that contract with the FBI, Peter had dared to hope that they had finally found a way out of that vicious circle. He had actually looked forward to shaking Neal's hand as a free man.

And then this had happened.

"Trust you? After you faked your death, left us all behind, and now I find you standing here with a multi-million-dollar painting in your hand? I don't know where that leaves us, but believe me, trust isn't even in the same conversation anymore!" Peter whisper-yelled at Neal.

There was a moment when Neal looked honestly stricken, but then they heard footsteps approaching, and there was simply no more time. Someone had figured out that something was going on here.

Suddenly Neal held out the original Delacroix painting to Peter. "Here, take it."

"What?" Peter snapped.

"Take the painting, Peter," Neal repeated urgently. "Tell them you tried to stop me, but you could only get the painting, which will be more important to them anyway. Tell them I ran and you saw me head for the Egyptian wing."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to hide in the Egyptian exhibit?"

"I could tell you the truth now, but since you don't trust me, you wouldn't believe me anyway, now would you?"

Searchingly, Peter met Neal's gaze. It was ridiculous that Neal was trying to turn the tables on him, act like he was the one who had gotten hurt in all this. Except, it was exactly what Neal would do. Something the old Neal had done. He had also asked Peter to trust him many times...

Either way, as long as Neal didn't make off with the painting, this wasn't over yet.

So Peter took the painting, and Neal did what he did best. He disappeared, taking his tools and the dinner wagon with him.

The people from the Louvre arrived and chaos ensued when they didn't know what to make of Peter and this entire situation. Having expected as much, Peter had reached for his FBI badge and held it up even before they had entered the hallway, hoping it would have some impact at least. It didn't help that he didn't speak French. Still, he managed to explain that there had been an attempted theft, but that he had secured the painting while the thief had taken off. And for better or worse, Peter did tell them to search the Egyptian wing.

There was still some confusion and distrust. Both the President-Director and the Managing Director of the Louvre arrived to speak with him. But since his FBI badge was legit and he handed over the painting voluntarily, they seemed to believe him. Several security guards were dispatched to continue the search while a couple of Louvre employees carefully took down Neal's fake Delacroix under the watchful eye of the Managing Director. Finally, the lights came back on as well, so it was possible to examine both paintings. They looked identical, but Peter had expected nothing less.

He refrained from commenting, though, because no one wanted to hear his opinion anyway. More importantly, he felt like he was standing on very thin ice since he knew the identity of the thief and had not revealed that fact – yet.

Sara now entered the hallway or tried to, but a security guard stopped her. Unfazed, Sara talked to him for a few moments, although talking wasn't really the appropriate word for what she was doing. She did show him her Sterling Bosch ID, but she also made sure that the slit in her dress showed a lot of leg. And if Peter could see that from all the way over here, then so could the security guard, and, unsurprisingly, he let her through. Peter shook his head in amazement. Sara was almost as proficient in the art of talking her way into places as Neal. How had he never noticed that before?

"What happened here?" Sara asked when she reached him, careful to keep her distance from the two paintings on the floor. Since everyone here could probably understand English a lot better than the two of them could understand French, she lowered her voice. "Was it...?"

Peter only gave a curt nod.

Sara's eyes widened. "So you saw him?"

Another nod.

"And it was really him?"

"As opposed to his evil twin you mean?" Peter quipped.

"Okay, okay, but... what did he say?"

Peter understood Sara's need for answers, but he still didn't have any, and he couldn't have voiced them even if he had.

"Wrong place, wrong time, I get it." Sara sighed. "So, did you... stop him?" she asked, not sure what to make of the two paintings with no Neal in sight.

"Not exactly," Peter replied unhelpfully. "What happened with...?" He stopped himself from saying Mozzie's name.

And he didn't need to because Sara knew exactly who he was talking about. "He put on quite a show. But he never actually tried to steal anything. Apparently, he just touched the glass that protects the Mona Lisa, or rather, he kissed it. They shipped him off to a hospital for a mental evaluation," she said with a shake of her head and a laugh.

"Funny, I always wanted to do that," said Peter.

"Yeah, but knowing Mozzie, he will probably enjoy himself during that evaluation, wasting everyone's time."

"And then he'll disappear right after," Peter agreed.

Sara nodded. "A lot easier to slip out of a hospital than this place. All the other guests have been escorted back to the dining hall, with only the open bar to keep them from revolting. But all museum exits are still closed. Which means... certain people might still be in serious trouble if..."

She never finished that sentence when some of the security guards returned, shouting something in French.

"I think they found him," Sara translated in shocked disbelief, but Peter didn't really need her to.

The excitement in the looks of everyone here had already told him as much. His body was stiff and his jaw tense as he watched them bring in Neal to face the President-Director who looked like he wanted to tear him limb from limb.

Except, the man in cuffs wasn't Neal. This man was older, close to fifty years of age, and he had a distinctively French look about him. He was dressed in black and someone had relieved him of a set of tools that looked exactly like Neal's.

Could there have been two thieves in the museum tonight?

The President-Director stepped closer to the man and then turned to look at Peter. "Is this the man you saw? He was hiding in a sarcophagus in the Egyptian wing, just like you said," he asked in his heavily accented English.

Before Peter could respond, the Managing Director interrupted him with a shout. "C'est le fantôme! Le fantôme!" He yelled and waved them over to where the two paintings were still being examined.

In the bottom right corner of the painting Neal had forged there was a tiny signature, practically invisible to the naked eye, but the Louvre staff had brought magnifying glasses and lamps that provided them with just the right light. And everyone seemed to recognize that signature as belonging to someone they called 'Le fantôme.'

Seeing that Peter was the only one not familiar with that name, the Director was gracious enough to explain, "That man is a notorious art thief. He has stolen many valuable pieces of art from the French people and always got away. That's why we've called him 'le fantôme,' or... 'ghost' in your language, yes? The police have been trying to catch him for years, but he never got caught. Until today. Because no one steals from the Louvre," he finished with a smug look on his face and gave a satisfied nod when he saw that Peter was smiling too.

Peter was indeed smiling.

Grinning even.

But it had nothing to do with the President-Director.

And everything with one of his employees who was probably back to serving the other guests wine or champagne as if nothing had happened at all.

* * *

The clean-up took forever. As an FBI agent and especially as ASAC, Peter knew that the wheels of justice sometimes turned very slowly. He knew that it took time to secure a crime scene, take witness statements, and double-check that the suspect had been mirandized – all to make sure that no hotshot lawyer got the chance to take it all apart again like a house of cards.

But he had never realized how annoying that was if you really wanted to be somewhere else. At least, he could rest assured that everyone else was just as stuck as he was. Though he suspected that a certain someone would find a way – if he wanted to. But when the police arrived, they barely paid attention to anyone besides le fantôme. Apparently, he had been their white whale.

Or, Peter thought with a wry grin, their Neal.

Eventually, he was free to go, for now at least. Sara had been called away by her boss because someone at Sterling Bosch was in full-on panic mode, even though 'Liberty Leading the People' hadn't been one of their paintings. So Peter was alone, and that made it fairly easy to sneak around to one of the back exits that the Louvre employees used.

They were finally allowed to call it a night as well. And what a night it had been. Most of them were talking excitedly, either with each other or someone on the phone. Except for the one guy who was walking by himself, adjusting a grey fedora on his head as he went.

Peter pushed himself off the wall. "Hey, Neal."

Neal stopped, barely surprised this time. And if he really didn't want to be found, it was probably time for a new look. "Are you here to arrest me?" he asked.

"For what? Damaging a multi-million-dollar painting isn't in the FBI's jurisdiction."

"Actually, I was very careful. The canvas should be easy enough to restore. No one will be able to tell the difference," Neal pointed out.

"I'm sure whoever is in charge of the investigation will be glad to hear that," Peter replied.

Neal cocked his head. "But that's not you?"

"Me? No, I'm on vacation."

"Peter Burke on vacation? Really?" Neal said mockingly.

"Apparently, even when I'm on vacation, I can help catch France's most-wanted criminals," Peter replied pointedly. It was a dance that was perfectly familiar to both of them, but it wasn't what Peter had come here for. "How did you do it, Neal?"

Getting straight answers out of him had never been easy, though. "This isn't really the place for that kind of conversation."

"You said we should talk later. It's later now." He kept his tone light, neutral, because, frankly, there were too many emotions warring for his attention. So he kept a lid on them all. But Peter knew one thing. He was not going to let Neal get away from him again.

"I should have known you would take that literally," Neal joked, but it was a half-hearted effort. He knew that they were standing in a minefield, and they were both looking for a way to minimize casualties. "Okay, come on," he decided eventually.

Peter didn't question where they were going. He just made sure to pay close attention. In the end, they stopped outside a charming, old house with overflowing flowerpots out front and a balcony belonging to the upstairs apartment. Peter couldn't help but laugh when he saw that.

"What's so funny?" Neal wanted to know.

"I've looked at this very house before," Peter told him.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Really? How?"

"Because you can get a mean cup of cappuccino right across the street."

"I know that. The question is how do you know that?"

Peter shrugged. "I have my ways."

"Elizabeth told you, didn't she?" Neal deduced quickly.

And Peter saw no point in denying it. "She has a nose for that kind of thing."

"I'm sure she does," Neal agreed, heading for the door, but then he turned around again. "Wait, is she here? In Paris? What about the baby? You did have a baby, right?"

It sounded like Mozzie hadn't shared much with him. Or maybe Neal hadn't asked. Hard to say which thought rankled Peter more. Then again, having Neal at a disadvantage for once was a nice change. And oddly satisfying.

"Nope," Peter said with a shake of his head, "we're talking about you now, not me."

"Oh, come on! That's not fair. Babies trump everything, don't they? Don't tell me you don't have at least a million pictures of him on your phone!" Neal kept pushing, and his seemingly honest excitement and youthful exuberance would have been touching if it hadn't been six months too late.

"Just lead the way," Peter instructed him coolly.

Neal held his gaze for a moment longer, but then he seemed to accept that Peter was not going to give in first. He opened the front door, took the stairs to the apartment upstairs and flipped on the lights. It was a spacious loft with brick walls and a dark mahogany floor. The furniture was sparse, actually, which left enough room for the huge easel and the many painting supplies. It was different from the space Neal had rented from June. It certainly felt less lived in. But it looked enough like him to convince Peter that Neal wasn't trying to deceive him.

"So this is it. This is where you've been all this time."

"For most of it," Neal nodded.

Peter looked out onto the balcony. No New York skyline, of course, but the view wasn't bad either, and the light during the day was probably ideal for painting. "Doesn't look cheap."

"The Louvre actually pays very well. Better than the FBI, in fact."

"With benefits?" Peter asked so he could keep looking around for anything useful, like unopened mail.

"Of course. France has one of the best health care systems in the world," Neal replied unconcerned, which told Peter that there was nothing to find.

So he stopped to look at Neal. "Do they know they hired a dead man?"

"Peter..."

He raised a hand. "No, I don't even want to hear it. Tell me about tonight," Peter decided and sat on a kitchen chair.

Neal sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa, facing him. "The security at the Louvre is good but not impenetrable."

"Clearly," Peter snorted. "They hired you."

"Okay, if you're just going to provide passive-aggressive commentary all night, we need something to drink." Neal walked over to the fridge and grabbed an already opened bottle of wine. "No beer, I'm afraid. That's why you should always tell people you're coming."

"I'll apologize to Emily Post later," Peter deadpanned, but he accepted the glass of wine Neal offered him. He did feel like he could use it.

Neal rested against the kitchen counter. "Now, I assume you noticed that I wasn't the only visitor of questionable character at the Louvre tonight."

"How did you know about le fantôme?" Peter wanted to know.

"What did you do when you thought you were going to Washington?" Neal answered with a question of his own that was in fact an answer.

"I read up on all the agents I'd be working with and their recent cases," Peter nodded. Neal was saying that he had done his homework. Of course, no one but Neal would think that the two situations were even remotely comparable. But Peter decided to let that one go. "But how did you know he would go for the Louvre next?"

"I didn't, until I noticed him casing the place," Neal replied.

"While you were also casing it?" Peter guessed.

"While I was working," Neal corrected him with a crooked smile. "He came once a week. Always on a different day at a different time with a different look, but every week for a couple of months, like clockwork. He sniffed around the Mona Lisa at first – like they all do."

"Except for people who, you know, don't try to steal things," Peter interjected.

Neal heaved a rather theatrical sigh. "I hope Elizabeth is teaching Burke Junior his manners so he will know better than to keep interrupting when someone tells him a story."

Peter merely shot him a look. He wouldn't fall for any attempts at changing the topic. "So le fantôme was interested in the Mona Lisa," he prompted.

"Yes, when he moved on from that, and the date for the gala was announced, I knew this was serious," Neal continued. "And I knew he was going to get away with it."

"Are you saying he found a way in and out that you hadn't?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised.

"I'm saying he didn't have a Peter Burke on his tail," Neal replied smoothly. "Or so I thought. So I figured I'd have to be the one to stop him."

"Why?"

Neal shrugged in a way that was supposed to be indifferent but looked forced. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

"Or you just didn't want him to get away with robbing the Louvre before you could," Peter argued.

"Isn't it exhausting to always see the worst in people?" Neal challenged him.

"Maybe," Peter agreed. "Also keeps you from getting lied to."

"I didn't lie to you, Peter."

"The state of New York has a tombstone with your name on it that says differently."

They stared at each other in a grim stalemate, neither one willing to drop their guard.

"So how did you figure out how to stop this fantôme?" Peter pressed Neal to continue.

He looked exasperated, but he said, "His success comes from practically being invisible except for his signature on the forgeries that he leaves behind, hence the name. Usually, by the time anyone discovers those, he's long gone. He handles security systems the way Mozzie approaches my wine cabinet – methodically, expertly, and patiently taking it apart piece by piece. He figured out how to turn off the cameras and silence the alarms so he could get to work. Then he just needed to kill the lights to create a little panic and confusion and make it look like a power outage rather than a theft, at least for a little while. He wouldn't have needed any more time than that to take what he wanted and become invisible again."

"And at no point while you observed all of this did it occur to you to talk to the police?" Peter asked.

"I know I wasn't good at the paperwork, but even I know that judges generally like to have some sort of proof before issuing warrants," Neal countered.

Peter nodded slowly. "So you made your own," he said, looking at the easel where Neal would have painted the fake Delacroix – with the fake signature. Forging the forger. As illegal as it was, it did have finesse. Then again, Neal had never been lacking in that department.

"I figured that a man named le fantôme would rather abort and leave empty-handed than risk getting caught, so we had to make him feel like he was no longer in control of the situation."

"We as in you and Mozzie," Peter clarified.

Neal didn't say anything, even now unwilling to give up his friend. At least some things didn't change.

"Neal, I know Mozzie's here and that he helped you by trying to kiss the Mona Lisa or whatever."

"Would you believe me if I told you that was just something he wanted to cross off his bucket list?" Neal said with a soft chuckle.

Peter snorted. "Actually, I would."

They shared something that could have been a smile if it hadn't been smothered by the tension in the room.

"The timing was tricky," Neal continued on his own this time. "We had to wait until le fantôme was inside the museum and about to cut the alarms, because we needed to trigger them almost at the exact same time to make him think that he had done something wrong. Thanks to the new security update, any alarm automatically seals all museum exits. Trapped and not sure what exactly was going on, his only safe play was to kill the lights, destroy the evidence, and find a hiding place to wait it all out."

"Creating the perfect window for you to take the painting, leave behind the fake one with his signature, and then make sure that he was discovered and not you," Peter filled in the blanks. "How did you know about the sarcophagus?"

"With high stakes like this, you need to have a place to stash the painting and possibly yourself in an emergency. And a sarcophagus for ancient mummies that no one's going to touch makes for a perfect hiding place – as long as you bring your own oxygen."

Peter frowned. That sounded like a terrible idea to him, but that was probably why it would have worked. "How did he know that you can still open those things?"

"Because I told him during one of his visits," Neal replied lightly, as if it wasn't a big deal that he had played this guy, the Louvre, and the police.

Then again, Peter wasn't surprised. It was an excellent plan as far as completely illegal and entirely unsanctioned plans went. "You made me lie to the police."

Neal shook his head. "I made you pass on carefully selected pieces of information. And he deserved it. Believe me."

"So I've heard. But there's one flaw in all of this – aside from the fact that you had knowledge of a crime and rather than share that with the appropriate authorities, you also committed a crime to stop it," Peter pointed out sharply.

But he was willing to overlook that – he kind of already had – because Neal's intentions had been good. On the other hand, there was a reason for that saying about the road to hell... "If I hadn't been there tonight, what would you have done with the original Delacroix painting?"

Neal tried to placate him with his signature grin. "Peter, don't you want to keep some of the mystery alive in this relationship?"

It was the wrong thing to say. "What relationship is that, Neal?" That had always been the question, hadn't it? And right now, Peter felt like he had never been further from having an answer. "The one where I keep thinking I can finally trust you and you keep proving me wrong?"

Neal's face crumpled. "Do you really think I wanted this?" he asked, his voice low, disbelieving, perhaps even disappointed.

Well, two could play at that game. "I don't know, Neal. What do you want?"

"I want you to stop looking at me like I'm nothing but a criminal!" Neal said heatedly, pushing off the kitchen counter, unable to stand still any longer.

Peter turned around in his chair to keep his eyes on him. "But you are a criminal, Neal. You had your chance to become a free man the right way and you didn't take it."

Neal stopped pacing. "I did what I had to do. I did the right thing."

Peter now stood as well, too exhausted to rein in his anger any longer. "No, the right thing would have been to come talk to me..."

Neal barely allowed him to finish. "I couldn't. You couldn't know. No one could know. It was the only way to protect you."

"Protect me from what, Neal? From thinking I had failed you? From wondering over and over if I could have saved you if I had just been a little bit faster? From speaking at your goddamn funeral?" Peter couldn't stop himself from raising his voice. He hadn't meant to say these things, but at the same time he realized that he had to. There was no more holding it in.

"You didn't fail me, Peter. You never have, and I was just trying to do the same. I was trying to save you for once!" Neal replied, his words just as loud and raw.

"Then you have a very funny way of saving people. You made me go home to my pregnant wife and find a way to look her in the eye and tell her that I had lost you! We mourned you for a year! El could have lost the baby!" Peter raged, revealing one of his greatest fears. It hadn't come true – thank God – but that didn't mean he had forgiven Neal for the part he had played in it.

"I did this for Elizabeth and the baby!" Neal shot right back. "So the Panthers wouldn't hurt them!"

Peter shook his head. He was not going to accept that. "The Panthers are in prison."

"Do you really think prison would have stopped them if they had found out that I was a rat? That I was the one who ruined the score of a lifetime – of a hundred lifetimes?" Neal's eyes were wide, and exhausted, as if this had kept him up at night for way too long.

"They were going to spend the rest of their lives behind bars because of me and they would have made it their one goal in that life to kill me. And not just me. They would have come after everyone I love! I couldn't let them hurt Elizabeth, or Moz, or… you. Not after everything you've done for me. After everything you had risked already. I couldn't have lived with myself!" Neal didn't have the strength to keep yelling there at the end, his conman charm and that constant air of superiority stripped away.

No more Neal swagger, no more witty comebacks. Only pain and a deep-seated loneliness, so intense that it came as a shock to Peter.

And it occurred to him that Neal had exiled himself by faking his death. Mozzie had joined him eventually, but not until recently. For the better part of a year, Neal had been alone. As he had been for most of his life. From being raised in WITSEC to becoming a conman on the run from the FBI, there had never been a chance to put down roots. Living at June's had been the closest he had come to a stable home. Peter had always thought that Neal had chosen this kind of life, but maybe, in truth, whether he was aware of it or not, the choices had always been made for him.

And this choice… Peter couldn't really fault Neal for wanting to protect them. Still, this did not feel like the right way to do it. It also no longer felt right, however, to yell at Neal about it.

"You broke my wife's heart," he said simply. "And mine," he added after a beat, and it was actually a relief to admit that.

Neal looked completely lost now. "I'm sorry, Peter. There was no other way."

"There's always another way. You of all people should know that," Peter told him.

"Well, we're both still here right now," Neal replied with a helpless shrug.

Peter nodded slowly. "Yes, we are, and you're back to being Neal Caffrey, notorious thief and art forger, and I'm back to chasing you."

"If that were true, I'd be in cuffs already, but I'm not," Neal pointed out.

"Maybe I'm still not a hundred percent convinced that you shouldn't be," Peter warned him.

"Then arrest me!" Neal stepped closer and held out his hands. "Do it, Peter."

He actually looked serious. Desperate. To atone or to prove a point, Peter didn't know. And he didn't care. He ignored Neal's proffered hands and pulled him into a hug instead.

It wasn't necessarily forgiveness. It certainly wasn't approval of what had happened at the Louvre. But Peter figured he should make one thing perfectly clear. No matter what, he would always be glad that Neal was still alive. Even with all the headaches, frustration, and downright madness.

Neal was so surprised, he stood ramrod straight at first before he eventually relaxed enough to accept the gesture and even return it.

"Wow, being arrested has certainly changed since the last couple of times I've done it," Neal joked when they stepped back.

Peter slapped the back of his head. "Shut up."

"Yeah, that's more like it." Unsure of what to say next, Neal's eyes drifted to the counter and their two glasses, almost empty and nearly forgotten. "I think this calls for more wine."

While he poured two new glasses for them, Peter opened the balcony door and stepped out into the cool night.

When Neal joined him and handed him back his glass, Peter asked, "Why did you send us that bottle of wine?"

Neal sighed. "I know I shouldn't have done that. I guess I was feeling 'moi tout seul.'" When Peter raised an eyebrow, he explained, "It means 'me all alone.' I know that's how it needs to be. I know I shouldn't have risked giving you that clue because the Panthers can never learn the truth. But the gala at the Louvre was getting closer, and maybe I did want you to stop me."

"Stop you from taking the painting you mean," Peter said.

Neal was quiet for so long, Peter thought he would keep denying it, but then he said, "I know I told you not to look at me like I'm a criminal, but you were right. I am one, and I don't think I know how to be anything else."

"I don't believe that," Peter said.

"Really? Do you really think that if things with the Panthers had worked out differently, I would have chosen to do the right thing? Neal Caffrey walking the straight and narrow?" Neal wanted to know.

And Peter really wanted to tell him yes. But there was still the matter of the 14 million dollars that had gone missing…

"You took some of the money, didn't you?" Peter asked, heaving a sigh.

Neal shook his head. "Actually, I didn't."

"Right, the same way you didn't take the treasure because Mozzie was the one who actually took it," Peter guessed.

Neal gave him the same look as before. He was never going to rat out his friend. But there was no need to because Peter already knew. He knew, but he was not going to arrest Mozzie either because he couldn't bring himself to. And because there was no proof. Mostly because there was no proof.

"Why? Why did you take it?" Peter felt like he had asked this question a million times.

And heard the answer just as often. "Because it was there."

"That's not an answer, Neal. In the real world, that is not good enough."

"What does that mean, though? 'The real world'?" Neal asked.

"It means that you're responsible for someone besides yourself and to let them know that they can count on you. Not just for something like… this… but every day," Peter replied. For the first time he allowed himself to think of the other Neal, who needed him now and who would need him for many years to come. Which was scary but also humbling, and it grounded him like nothing else.

Neal took a very generous sip of the wine. "Sometimes I think it was a good thing that the Panthers forced me to fake my death. I know I hurt you guys, but at least I didn't end up disappointing you."

Peter turned away from the nice view to face him fully. "But you're not really dead, Neal. You can prove to yourself and everyone else that you can make that choice. Come back to the FBI as a free man."

"No anklet?" Neal asked, both eyebrows raised.

"No anklet," Peter confirmed. The thought made his stomach churn, but it was also strangely exhilarating. Of course, he wouldn't be in the field with Neal like he used to be, but maybe every now and then an opportunity would present itself…

For a brief moment, Neal's eyes were as bright and alive as the lights of the city behind him, but then he panicked. "No, Peter, I can't come back with you. The Panthers can never know that I'm alive and definitely not that I'm working for the FBI. Tell me you didn't tell anyone besides Elizabeth!"

"I didn't tell anyone," Peter assured him. "But, Neal, there are no more Pink Panthers."

"What?"

"Woodford was killed in prison and the rest of them were transferred to different federal prisons all over the States," Peter told him. "If anyone needs protection now, it's them."

Neal gaped at him as if his entire world had just collapsed, which, Peter realized, it had. Neal had based this self-imposed exile solely on the threat that the Pink Panthers had posed. Now, he was suddenly faced with a choice. A choice he had never thought he would have again.

"Who killed Woodford?" he asked.

Peter sighed. If the news of the Panthers' demise had come as a shock to Neal, this next part wouldn't go over any better. But they both had choices to make. And going forward, Peter chose: no more lies.

"The evidence points to another inmate in the cell across from him."

"But you don't believe that," Neal deduced from his tone right away. "You usually like the evidence."

"I do. And I'm sure there's more evidence to find, but it wasn't my case," Peter explained.

Neal narrowed his eyes at him. "But you think you know who did it." It wasn't a question.

Peter took another deep breath. He had been so busy looking for Neal that he had managed not to think about Bennett too much. This trip to Paris had been like living in a happy, little bubble. He had his family with him, he had them safe, and he had a semi-reasonable chance of seeing Neal again. Unfortunately, they couldn't stay in that bubble indefinitely.

It was time to let the rest of the world back in.

"It's James, Neal," Peter said quietly. "I think your father killed Woodford."

Neal looked like he had sucker punched him. Eventually he schooled his features into a careful mask of disbelief. "No. Why would he do that? He's on the run. He knows if he shows his face anywhere in New York, he will be arrested."

"He came back to be at your funeral," Peter told him, and it was almost painful to watch Neal's reaction.

There was this instant glimmer of hope and affection. The way any son would feel upon hearing that his dad had risked everything to grieve his death – if it were normal to be told about the guests at your own funeral anyway. But then Neal brutally shoved those feelings aside, tried to shut them down as best he could, when he remembered the last time he had actually seen James Bennett.

"He was there? In person?" he asked, his voice strained from the effort it took to make it sound nothing but curious. "Did you arrest him?"

"No. I tried to," Peter admitted, sticking to his new resolution to have no more lies between them. "But he was armed, and El was there with me..." He broke off. He didn't want to relive the awfulness of that day. But Neal needed to hear about this.

"I think a part of him really cared, Neal," Peter said. He didn't know if that made it better or worse for Neal, but he deserved to know that there was love there. In some way, at least. "He was angry and he blamed me..." Peter paused. It was extremely difficult to talk about Bennett and not let all of his anger show right away. "I can't say if he had a right to those feelings, but he was genuinely shaken by your death. When he ran and found a way to disappear again, I figured that this time we would really never see him again. But he came back, or rather, he never actually left. He stayed in one of Mozzie's safe houses."

"Why?"

Peter decided to go back inside so they could sit, and then he told Neal all about those three heists. How they had reminded him of Neal right away, but he had still needed time to see the hidden clues that had eventually led him back to James. How they had managed to arrest everyone at that safe house except for James because he hadn't been inside the house. How no one was willing to roll on James because they were too afraid because James – in all likelihood – had killed Woodford. And how he was still out there now, probably hiring a new crew, planning another heist, or doing who knows what. Which led Peter to the tricky part.

"I can't let him stay out there, Neal. When I had him out in those woods, when I should have cuffed him myself, he tried to convince me to let him go. Obviously, he knows that the confession you made is fake, and if I bring him in, he could probably prove that. He also found out about Dawson, the prosecutor who took that bribe from Hagen that you procured for him, and he knows that I covered it all up. He threatened to get Dawson to confess to everything."

Neal's eyes widened in alarm. "Peter, you would be indicted."

"On several charges, probably. But that doesn't matter now. Letting James go free is not an option."

"Peter, I know we've been here before, and I know you don't care about my opinion on all this. I understand that you need to do what you feel is right, but how can that be worth more than your life? Than your family?" Neal argued.

"It's because of them that I need to find James. When I told him that I was going to take him in anyway, that I would go back to jail if need be, he threatened to hurt my son if I wasn't around to protect him anymore – in retaliation for losing you."

"No." Neal vehemently shook his head. "He wouldn't do that. He knows that there is nothing more important to you than protecting your family. He's just using that against you."

"Are you sure about that? Are you sure that the man who was once a dirty cop, killed his superior officer, shot Senator Pratt right in front of me, and has since then been responsible for at least one if not two more murders would make an empty threat? The man who barely stopped short of threatening you when you tried to stop him from leaving? Because this is my son's life we're talking about! If you're not 200 percent sure, it is not nearly good enough," Peter told him.

Neal looked sick, and he didn't respond. Of course not. They had both been fooled by James Bennett before, and they had been wrong about what he was willing to do to save himself. No one could possibly vouch for his actions in the future.

Peter took in Neal's silence and nodded. "I thought so. Which is why I need to find him next."

Something in Neal's face hardened. "So that's why you're really here. Why you want me back at the FBI. You just need my help to find my father." That seemed to upset him more than everything he had just needed to hear about James.

"Well, you did fake your own death, stole 14 million dollars, and would have taken a priceless painting on top of that," Peter reminded Neal. They were still treading on thin ice here.

"You're right. I guess I wouldn't trust me either," Neal replied with a self-deprecating shrug of his shoulders that was really just for show.

Peter leaned forward. He wanted to slap some sense into Neal and tell him no, that was not the only reason why he had brought his entire family on an expensive trip to Paris and had spent the past couple of days looking for him. But he knew he shouldn't tell him that. If he got too invested again, he would only get sucked into the vortex of the blindingly brilliant and gloriously destructive supernova that was Neal Caffrey. And he couldn't risk that right now. He needed to stay focused on what was most important.

"I do trust you, Neal. I trust you to finish what you started and to help me protect my family," he said.

"Of course," Neal said, and even though there was disappointment, it was also clear that he meant that. "Anything."

They were both silent then. They had talked for what felt like hours, and yet too much still remained unsaid.

"Can I see them?" Neal asked eventually. "Elizabeth and the baby?"

"How do you know they are here?" Peter asked in return. He still hadn't confirmed that or told him anything about them really.

Neal just gave him a look. A look that said 'I still know you, Peter Burke.' "Come on, after what you've told me just now, I'm surprised you didn't bring them with you to the gala tonight. Elizabeth is the one who got you in, isn't she?"

Way too tired to get into those details, Peter just said, "We're staying at the _Gardette_."

"I hear that's a very nice hotel," Neal nodded eagerly.

Peter glanced at his watch and winced. It was the middle of the night. El would be worried sick by now. He had told her not to, but when had that ever worked? The best he could hope for was that she had fallen asleep.

"I don't know. El is pretty upset. And you definitely don't want to make her mad by waking the baby," Peter mused. El had told him to bring Neal home. That was the whole point of all this. But he wasn't convinced that she was really prepared for it. He wanted to talk to her first. "You should come in the morning," he decided. "El is still happy that she can drink coffee again. She'll be in a better mood then."

And that prospect seemed to make Neal happy as well. "I will bring her the best coffee in all of Paris."

Peter frowned. "Neal, are you trying to bribe my wife into forgiving you?"

"Do you really want me to show up empty-handed?" Neal asked.

He thought about that. "Better bring the coffee."

This time, the smile they shared was tentative, but the distance it had to bridge between them wasn't quite so insurmountable anymore.

Still, it felt strange when Peter stood to leave. He sort of lingered on the doorstep, wondering if he could trust that Neal wouldn't simply disappear on him again.

"Really, Peter, where would I even go? At this point, I'm pretty sure there is not a single place on the face of this Earth where you wouldn't find me," Neal said, reading his mind.

"I wouldn't have come if you hadn't sent me that bottle of wine," Peter told him.

"I know."

Peter turned to leave but paused one more time. "For the record, I'm glad you did."

Neal's face lit up with one of those grins that usually meant he was asking for trouble. "Off the record, so am I."


	10. Namesake

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! Also, I just watched the new Downton Abbey movie, and I kept thinking, how great would it be if we got a White Collar movie? :D But I guess fanfiction will have to do. Anyway, here we go with chapter ten. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Elizabeth Burke was not having a particularly good morning. The shrill ringing of the hotel phone had woken her up. And not just her. Peter had scrambled out of bed to get to the phone quickly, but the damage had already been done. Neal was up as well, and he was not happy about the nature of this early wake-up call. So now, the baby was crying, Peter was trying to tell whoever was on the phone that he did not speak French, and Elizabeth was tempted to hide under the covers to silence all the noise.

But sleep was now out of the question. So she got out of bed and tried to soothe her son without actually picking him up, because he looked tired enough to be coaxed back to sleep. She wasn't having much luck, though. When Peter finally got off the phone, he grabbed some fresh clothes in a hurry and slipped into the bathroom.

"Honey, what's going on?" she called.

"That was the police. They need me to come down to the precinct," was his muffled reply.

There were a dozen questions that came to mind, but Elizabeth settled for, "Now?"

"I tried to tell them that this probably could have waited another two to three hours, but then they told me that they could have arrested me yesterday, so I decided to let them have this one."

"Arrest you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice fraught with concern. "What exactly happened last night?" She had tried to wait up for him, but she had fallen asleep long before Peter had returned from the gala.

"They were kidding... I think. Anyway, don't worry, no one got arrested," Peter replied. "Well, except for that art thief they had been after for years."

"What thief? Not Neal?" Elizabeth heard her husband turn on the shower, so either he hadn't heard her question or she could now no longer understand his answers.

She waited for a couple of minutes, but then her patience ran out. She walked into the bathroom and reached inside the shower to turn off the water. "Honey, what happened with Neal?" she repeated her question.

Peter turned to face her, dripping wet and a lopsided grin on his face, but it faded quickly when he saw that Elizabeth was not in the mood. "Oh, Neal was there," he said.

"To steal the Delacroix?" Elizabeth asked while she handed him a towel.

"Sort of. He wasn't the only one going after that painting. There was a notorious thief known as le fantôme, who would have tried to grab it first, but Neal made sure that he got caught. So in the end, no one stole anything," Peter explained briefly as he dried himself off and got dressed.

"Oh, but that's great! Isn't it? What happened then? Did you talk to Neal?" Elizabeth asked, her relief doing nothing to lessen her impatience.

"I did. And I wanted to tell you all about it. But I need to go and smooth things over with the local police. I'm sorry, hon. I'll try to be back before breakfast. There's a lot more I have to tell you and I will," Peter promised her, already halfway out the door.

Elizabeth sighed. She knew better than to try to stop him.

To her surprise, the baby had stopped crying, and he looked like he might go back to sleep after all. It was an unexpected chance to take a long, hot shower herself and Elizabeth didn't hesitate to take it. She felt a little bad about harassing Peter. He couldn't have gotten more than two or three hours of sleep. Then again, she wouldn't have denied him his right to a nice shower if he had made time to tell her about last night. And she certainly wasn't to blame for the police calling at this ungodly hour. But at least, Peter had seemed cautiously optimistic about everything.

When Elizabeth was dressed and ready, Neal's crying picked up again. This time she walked right over to him and lifted him out of the crib. As soon as she touched him, all of her hope that things were working out for them died instantly and left her hollow. Neal's skin was hot and clammy. He had been on the mend yesterday, but now he was clearly spiking a fever a lot worse than when Sara had first noticed it.

Quickly, Elizabeth took her son's temperature again, and when she saw the result, she felt the panic roll in. She should have never ever brought the baby to Paris. What in the world had she been thinking? Now her son was sick, and Elizabeth couldn't help him. She couldn't call his doctor, and she had no idea how to find one here who was qualified and willing to see them. She didn't even know where the next hospital was.

While she tried to calm down her son with one hand, she picked up the phone with the other and called the hotel lobby. No one answered, and Neal's crying only got worse.

"Okay, okay, don't worry, sweetheart. Mommy will fix this," Elizabeth whispered and pressed a kiss to her son's hot forehead before she put him back down in his crib.

She would have to go and look for the concierge downstairs. He had always been extremely kind and very patient from the moment they had arrived at the hotel with a screaming baby. Elizabeth had a feeling that he was a parent, too. She hoped he could tell her where best to take Neal.

Thankfully, she could pack a go bag in her sleep by now. She just added a few things she might need for a sick baby before she slung the diaper bag over her shoulder. Then she lifted her son out of the crib again. He was even redder in the face than before, because now he wasn't only feverish but also exhausted from crying. Elizabeth's heart broke for him, and she grabbed the baby car seat with a shaking hand. Neal's head rested listlessly on her chest, and he didn't like to be separated from her and put in the seat instead. But Elizabeth promised him that this was the fastest way to get help and make him feel better. She also put the cover over the seat so he would be shielded from the rest of the world and feel a little safer.

Carrying the covered car seat in one hand and securing the big diaper bag over her shoulder with the other one, Elizabeth left the hotel room as fast as she still could.

Impatiently, she kept pressing the elevator button. She was just about to take the stairs instead when the doors finally pinged open. Usually she would have stepped aside to let whoever was already in the elevator exit first, but being polite to strangers was not on her list of things to worry about this morning. Nevertheless, something stopped her in her tracks. It wasn't the fact that the man facing her was carrying a greasy paper bag and a tray with several cups of coffee that he probably would have spilled had Elizabeth bumped into him.

No, it wasn't the coffee or the nice clothes that would have been ruined in a coffee spill. It was the face. That perfect, ridiculously handsome face. Though, in this very moment, it was a little less perfect. It was marred by surprise.

"Elizabeth?"

Of course, his surprise was more of the 'I'm surprised to almost run into you in the elevator with a screaming baby' variety, whereas Elizabeth's surprise was on a whole other level. Simply seeing him again and hearing him say her name... it was like she had stumbled into one of her dreams. He even looked exactly the same – with those charming blue eyes and that disarming smile.

"Neal!? How... how are you here?" Elizabeth asked.

Yes, she had known that he was still alive. Because Peter had believed it to be true and because she believed in Peter. And just this morning her husband had officially confirmed that he had seen and talked to him. But none of that had actually prepared her for this moment. She simply couldn't accept that the man she had cried over, the man she had buried, the man who had taken a piece of her husband with him when they had lost him, was now standing before her on a goddamn coffee run!

"Peter told me to come," Neal replied. He sounded a little less sure of himself, though, than Elizabeth remembered, and he eyed her warily. "I'm a little early, but I figured you'd be up… with the baby and all."

Her inner turmoil was probably written all over her face – at least for a man like Neal who had always been so good at reading people. "Peter was called down to the police station," Elizabeth told him, wondering how the hell her husband had neglected to mention... this.

"Nothing to worry about, I hope?" Neal asked lightly as if he wasn't the reason for all of this. As if one of his smiles would make it all go away.

"I don't have time for this." Elizabeth said and forced herself to walk past Neal and step onto the elevator.

But Neal used his foot to stop the doors from closing. "Wait. Elizabeth, what's wrong?"

In short? Everything. Everything felt wrong about this situation. About him even asking that question. But Elizabeth didn't say that. Because the look in Neal's eyes told her that he wasn't even talking about any of that. He knew that he wasn't the most important thing on her mind right now. He knew that something else was wrong. And he cared.

And despite everything, Elizabeth was grateful.

"The baby's running a very high fever, and I don't know where to take him. We've been so busy searching for you that I never thought to look up children's hospitals," she explained quickly while she pressed the button for the lobby.

Once again, Neal stopped the doors from closing. Before Elizabeth could shoot him an angry look, he said, "I know where to take him."

"What?"

"I know a great ped surgeon. She's the best," Neal told her.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Does that matter?" Neal wondered.

"It matters because if my son gets hurt because you're thinking with the wrong body part right now, I will personally cut it off."

Neal's eyebrows shot up, but so did the corners of his mouth. "Duly noted," he said. "Let's go then. It's only a short drive. I promise."

For a few frantic heartbeats, Elizabeth hesitated. She could still take this elevator down to the lobby to ask the concierge for help instead. Then again, she didn't actually know the man. It might not feel that way right now, but she did know Neal. He had disrupted her life time and again, but when she had truly needed his help, he had always come through for her.

Every time.

Dying didn't change that.

Dying didn't take away the love.

Still tense, Elizabeth nodded, motioning for Neal to step on the elevator with her. For a second, he seemed unsure how to approach her and all her baggage. But he quickly adapted to the situation. He dumped his coffee and reached out to take the diaper bag and carry it for her, correctly assuming that she wouldn't have given him the baby. It was a strange look, Elizabeth thought as they were riding down in the elevator – Neal Caffrey in a nice designer suit and a blue diaper bag with baby ducks on it.

He didn't seem to mind. Rather, she could feel his eyes on her, trying to sneak a peek at the baby. With a start, Elizabeth realized that Neal had never seen the baby before. And this was so not how she had imagined this would go – the meeting of the two Neals. It barely even deserved to be called a meeting. Baby Neal was almost completely hidden by the infant seat cover. And grown-up Neal didn't ask if he could lift it or hold the baby or such nonsense. Now was not the time.

Downstairs Elizabeth headed for the street exit, but Neal grabbed her by the elbow and gently steered her out back. She had thought that the hotel parking lot was only for guests, not for visitors, but she didn't question him. She did begin to second-guess her decision, though, when she watched Neal swipe a key from the valet. Even encumbered by the baby bag, he made it look as easy as breathing. And then they stopped in front of a car that was definitely not Neal's.

Elizabeth did a double take. "Wait, are we stealing this car?"

"Of course not," Neal replied while he unlocked the car doors with the key he had just taken without permission. "We're borrowing it."

"Neal!" Elizabeth looked at him askance. When she had agreed to let him help, she had known that his methods weren't always above board. But making an FBI wife and her son complicit in grand theft auto... Peter would have a fit if he knew.

Neal opened the back door to put the car seat inside. "Don't worry. It's one of the cars that belong to the hotel, and you are paying guests of this hotel..."

"I'm sure you're supposed to ask first," Elizabeth argued.

"Do you want to go back inside and discuss this with them?" Neal asked, giving the baby a pointed look. His crying made it hard to understand much of anything. "Also, is there a trick how to install this thing?"

Elizabeth mockingly raised an eyebrow. "Really? You can steal a car, but you can't figure out how to install a car seat for an infant?"

"I never had to steal a car with a baby in the backseat before. Not that I have ever stolen a regular car before," Neal said, winking at her.

"Of course, you haven't," Elizabeth replied drily and waved him aside so she could properly install the car seat herself. Then she sat down in the back next to her son. She wanted to stay close and be able to talk to him.

Meanwhile Neal got behind the wheel and started the engine. Elizabeth almost expected someone to run up to them and stop them. "I'm trusting you here, Neal. Don't make me regret that by getting us both arrested," she said. "Going to prison is not an option. And you can't ride snowmobiles with a baby either."

"That one I knew," Neal nodded, and when he met her gaze via the rearview mirror, Elizabeth could tell that he, too, remembered that conversation. When Peter had been in jail, Neal had suggested to break him out and relocate them to Alaska as a last resort. It had been a joke. Still, Elizabeth had appreciated the sentiment.

"I heard about this guy in South Africa, though, who comes to work on his elephant. Doesn't that sound like fun for when the little man is feeling better?" Neal suggested. "I'm pretty sure you don't need car seats on an elephant."

Elizabeth laughed, but she choked up quickly. The only place she wanted to take her son right now was home. Which, of course, was impossible.

"He'll be fine, Elizabeth," Neal assured her, and though his only medical qualification was having faked his own death, she believed him.

They pulled out of the parking lot without running into any problems and the drive to the hospital didn't take too long, much to Elizabeth's relief. She barely had time to register the name of the hospital when they arrived, so she could tell Peter. Neal seemed very sure of where to go, and she followed him, glad they weren't wasting time with reading any of the signs.

At the reception desk, Neal told the nurse to page a Dr. Bernard. When the nurse hesitated, he added, "Tell her it's Luc, and that it's urgent." Elizabeth's French was good enough to understand that much.

The nurse still looked a little skeptical, but she couldn't deny that the crying baby with them was literally screaming for attention.

"You don't look like a Luc," Elizabeth said while they waited for the doctor. She had no idea how serious things had been with Neal and this woman. But if they were broken up by now, the fake name was probably a good place to start looking for reasons why it hadn't worked out.

Neal only shrugged his shoulders. "I've had worse."

"Worse names or worse girlfriends?" Elizabeth asked.

"I never said she was my girlfriend."

"Wasn't she?"

Neal looked like he honestly didn't know how to answer that question.

"The fact that you don't know is probably your answer," Elizabeth told him.

"I didn't know if Luc was here to stay. It didn't seem fair," he said, and Elizabeth got the feeling that building this new life hadn't been easy for Neal either.

Finding an attractive maybe-or-maybe-not girlfriend on the other hand clearly had been. Dr. Elaine Bernard was wearing pink scrubs, which shouldn't have been a good look for anyone, but she pulled it off. Somehow it made her face look even prettier. In that way, at least, she and Neal would have been a perfect match.

But it was obvious that she hadn't expected him to show up at the hospital today, and she didn't seem thrilled about being summoned like this either.

"Do you remember when I told you that I had family in America? This is them, and they need your help," Neal explained in English, looking from Elizabeth to Dr. Bernard.

His words caught both women by surprise.

Dr. Bernard turned her attention from Neal to Elizabeth and the baby. She spoke with only a mild accent when she switched to English as well. "Somebody doesn't look very happy. What seems to be the problem?" she asked, leaning in to look at the baby when Elizabeth removed the cover.

Elizabeth told her about the fever and its progression over the past few days. Of course, if Dr. Bernard was really a surgeon, this probably wasn't even her job. But she didn't seem to mind and she didn't brush them off.

"Okay, let's take a closer look then."

She led them into an exam room in the pediatric unit that was as colorful and welcoming as a place for sick children could possibly be. Still, Elizabeth preferred not to look around too much. With her own sick child in her arms, she didn't want to meet the eyes of other worried parents. She was too scared of what she would see.

The actual exam turned out to be fairly quick and mostly painless. Dr. Bernard examined Neal and then got him started on antibiotics. As soon as they kicked in, Neal was fast asleep.

"Your son has an ear infection, but it looks like he's responding very well to the antibiotics, which means the fever should go down quickly. We'll observe him for a little while, but I'm sure you'll be able to take him home soon. If you keep giving him the antibiotics, he should be just fine."

Taking her first real breath without feeling like her chest might cave in and puncture her heart, Elizabeth thanked Dr. Bernard. "Could this have something to do with the flight over here?" she then just had to ask.

"It could, but it could also have a million other reasons. Children get ear infections, especially between 6 and 18 months of age. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong," the doctor told her, and Elizabeth liked her more by the minute. "Now, you're welcome to stay with him, of course, but it's best to let him sleep. We'll be checking in on him regularly, so if you want to take a breath, get a coffee, call someone..." Dr. Bernard trailed off, her suggestion clear.

Leaving her sick son, even in such capable hands, was hard on Elizabeth. However, he really did look peaceful now, and she did need to call Peter. She had called him from the car earlier, and he had promised to come to the hospital right away. But Elizabeth had no idea if the police would let him leave or how far away the precinct was. Just in case he was stuck somewhere, she wanted to let him know that their son was better now.

There was a waiting room with a window right next door. That was a distance Elizabeth could stomach. A nurse brought her lots of paperwork to fill out. Elizabeth thought about leaving it for Peter to deal with later, but she could actually use the distraction.

Neal (the man, not the baby) walked into the room with two steaming cups of coffee – not paper ones but real mugs that had to belong to the hospital. "It's not as good as the one from earlier would have been, but it's fresh from the nurses' station. Milk, no sugar, right?" He said as he offered one to her.

Elizabeth accepted it. "Thank you – not just for the coffee," she clarified. "I couldn't have gotten him help so fast without you."

"No need to thank me, Elizabeth. You know that," Neal replied.

"Do I?" she couldn't help but ask. "I honestly don't know what I know anymore."

She didn't want to be mean. She didn't want to hurt him. She would be forever grateful to him for what he had done today. And it was cute that he remembered the way she drank her coffee. But there was no use pretending that this awkward silence between them wasn't there.

Neal seemed just as uncertain how to fill it.

Somebody else took care of that for them. The door to the waiting room was opened and Mozzie came rushing in. "I thought I heard the heart-wrenching screams of a baby without his favorite teddy bear! How is the little man? Is he okay?"

Elizabeth set down her coffee mug and looked from Neal to Mozzie and back again. Just the other day she had wanted to talk to Moz. She had wanted to talk to them both. She and Peter had chased after them as if they were all starring in a bad spy movie. And now, here they were all of a sudden – at the expense of her son. This was so wrong in so many ways, she didn't know where to begin.

"Are you kidding me right now? How are you all suddenly here?" she asked.

Neal and Mozzie exchanged a look. "Do you not want us to be here?"

"I wanted you to be there when he was born!" Elizabeth replied. "I wanted you to be there to give him that beautiful mobile you made for him and to watch him fall asleep under it. I wanted him to have two happy parents who didn't have a reason to be sad every time they looked at it!" Elizabeth took a deep breath. "You can't just show up in our lives now, save my son, and make me forgive you because of it. It's not… fair."

"You're right, Elizabeth," Neal agreed, spreading his hands as if to show that he was unarmed and defenseless. "And I never meant to hurt you."

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. What was she supposed to say to that?

"I know exactly how you feel," Mozzie jumped in. "Believe me. I have shared that same feeling of betrayal, which, as we all know, is the willful slaughter of hope."

"Then why did you practically disappear on us after the baby was born?" Elizabeth challenged him. "You're no better than him."

"I have previously explained to you that I was merely trying not to distract you from completely devoting yourself to your son – given how long you had been waiting for such a chance," Mozzie defended himself.

"So what? You think I can't love all of you at the same time?" Elizabeth asked, shaking her head in exasperation. "Men! You think you are such martyrs when in reality you're just blind fools."

"Doesn't love make fools of us all? And this fool couldn't bear the thought of loving and losing another Neal. Distancing myself from you was the only way. I admit it was an imperfect solution, but it was the only one I could think of at the time. If I was wrong, if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive, mea culpa," Mozzie said sincerely.

"Moz, no, it's not your fault," Neal protested.

"Isn't it? I fell for it. I knew it was a con. I knew it had to be a con. And I fell for it anyway. I should have seen it right away. I should have seen what was going on when you refused to introduce me to the Panthers. Or I should have been a better friend so you wouldn't have left me on the outside in the first place."

Neal looked at him as if he was crazy, which was a look Mozzie was well accustomed to, but this one was a little different. "No, Moz, you would have needed to be less of a friend."

"Excuse me?"

"I already told you. You know I could have used your help with the Panthers. You know I couldn't have asked for a better partner to have my back. But you're not just my partner. And this wasn't just another con. This was about your life. All of your lives. And I couldn't risk losing you either," Neal said honestly.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked.

"The Panthers would have killed all of you if they had found out that I was a rat," Neal explained to her softly. "You, Moz, Peter… the baby."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She had always wanted to believe that there was a reasonable explanation for what Neal had done. But she had never been brave enough to imagine something quite this terrifying.

"You killed yourself… for us?"

"I know," Mozzie said when he saw the look on her face. "It's frustratingly difficult to stay mad at him, isn't it?"

Neal ignored his underlying sarcasm and kept his eyes on Elizabeth. "I would have loved to be there to congratulate you and Peter on becoming the best parents any kid could possibly hope for. And for all the rest of it, too. I really do. I'm sorry."

"So am I," Elizabeth said gently. "I'm sorry you had to become a Luc. Although, Dr. Bernard certainly seems like a very nice woman."

"Yes, clearly he has suffered great hardship without us," Mozzie chimed in.

Neal shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I brought the Panthers into our lives. I had to make sure my life was the only one affected."

"You couldn't have made my husband go after the Panthers, Neal, if he hadn't wanted to do it," Elizabeth assured him. "You just kept him safe while he did."

"Well, you told me to," Neal reminded her, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"I know. But I didn't mean… this." Elizabeth pointed at the room, but she meant everything really.

"It was a terrible choice. But it was the best terrible choice I could make," Neal tried to explain.

"Another imperfect solution," Mozzie helped him out.

Elizabeth looked at her friend, remembering how utterly heartbroken he had been at the funeral. If he had forgiven Neal, then she supposed she could, too. They had already lost a whole year. Wasting any more time felt like a great injustice and an even greater ingratitude. She was well aware that most people didn't get second chances like this.

She made sure to look at both Mozzie and Neal when she said, "I've been an FBI wife for more than fifteen years, and now I'm also a mom, used to dealing with spit-up, temper tantrums, and severe sleep deprivation. If either one of you does something like this to me ever again, it won't be the Pink Panthers you'll have to worry about. Are we clear on that?"

Mozzie's eyes sparkled with pride when he looked from Elizabeth to Neal. "We've taught her well."

Neal chuckled. "I think she always had it in her."

"In that case, message received... Mrs. Suit," Mozzie said, and Elizabeth could tell that he used the moniker with the greatest respect and affection.

"Good," she said and smiled. She didn't feel like she needed to add anything to that. She was willing to move forward.

And just in time, too.

Peter had finally found them. He walked briskly into the room and reached out for Elizabeth to pull her into a tight embrace. "I came as fast as I could," he said as if he was afraid that she might blame him for their son being sick, or the police calling him away, or Neal making them follow him all the way to Europe in the first place. But Elizabeth was so tired of blaming anyone.

"I know," she nodded, leaning against his broad shoulders, relieved that she no longer had to keep it together by herself. She knew that Neal and Mozzie cared, but Peter was the only one who could truly understand the fear of having a sick child. "The doctor said he will be okay. The antibiotics seem to be working very well," she told him.

"It's an ear infection?" Peter asked.

"Yes, but the doctor doesn't believe it's anything we did." They looked at each other, and they both felt a little guilty regardless, but now was not the time for that.

Peter pressed a kiss to her forehead and then stepped back a little to look at the other two. "I thought we had agreed on you coming by for coffee," he said to Neal. "The best one in Paris if I recall correctly."

"I had to improvise," he replied. "I thought under the circumstances you would take the best doctor instead."

"And I suppose you just happen to know the best of everything in this city?"

"I am a man of impeccable taste."

Before they could start to squabble over this, Elizabeth squeezed her husband's hand. "Dr. Bernard was great," she assured him. "And so was Neal."

Peter acknowledged that with a nod, but the look on his face softened with gratitude that he was merely reluctant to voice. So he turned his attention to Mozzie. "And what did you bring? I don't see a straitjacket."

"I think we both know that I could never be contained by such narrow-mindedness," Mozzie said almost proudly. "I'm just here for moral support, since, you know, I already happened to be in the vicinity."

Peter shook his head, probably deciding that neither one of these two was his top priority right now, and looked back at Elizabeth. "Are we allowed to see him? I want Neal to know that I'm here for him."

"Peter, I'm touched," Neal said, his tone a little surprised and a little mocking.

Peter shot him an annoyed look. "I'm not talking about you."

Neal furrowed his brow. "Did I miss something here?"

"Yes, you did," Elizabeth replied, because, no matter what, that was definitely true, and it shut Neal up. "He fell asleep when the antibiotics kicked in, but it's been a while, so I'm sure he would love to know that you're here now," she told Peter and showed him where to go.

She would have gone with him, but the nurse returned to see if she was done with the paperwork, and Elizabeth had a couple of questions for her. Neal helped to translate every now and then and to charm the poor woman, though it wasn't up to her to decide whether the insurance was going to pay or not. But she was cautiously optimistic.

After the nurse had left with the paperwork, Peter returned, and Elizabeth's heart leapt when she saw that he was holding their son in his arms. He still looked a little feverish but a lot more alert and not quite as listless. "He was awake, and Dr. Bernard said I could pick him up for a bit. Let him know we're all here," Peter explained.

Elizabeth quickly walked over to them, kissed her son on the nose, and stroked his cheek. "Oh, sweetie, you look so much better already!"

Peter didn't say anything, but simply by looking at Elizabeth questioningly, he asked her if she thought it was time. Elizabeth nodded and stepped to the side so she wouldn't block the baby from view.

"Now, this is who I was talking about. This… is Neal," Peter said, smiling broadly at his son.

Neal – both the man and the baby – stared, gaped a little even. In this moment, it was hard to say whose eyes were more round with wonder. Only one of them understood the situation, of course, but both seemed equally fascinated by it.

"I have seen a lot of strange things in my life, but this might top them all – in a good kind of way," Mozzie was the first to speak.

Neal opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again without actually making a sound.

"I think it was worth just seeing him speechless for once," Elizabeth teased.

Peter grinned. "Oh, definitely."

Finally, Neal began to recover. "Can I… can I hold him?" he asked.

"Sure," Peter nodded and slowly walked over to him. "Neal, meet… Neal," he said, and after making sure that the baby was still curious and not too clingy, he handed him over to the man whose name he bore.

At first, Neal – the man – handled Neal – the baby – like he was made out of glass or, since this was Neal they were talking about, perhaps precious diamonds. But once Neal – the man – had overcome the irrational fear of dropping Neal – the baby – and Neal – the baby – had reached out with his tiny hands to feel the warmth of Neal – the man — both of their faces lit up with laughter as if recognizing, accepting, and officially approving each other. It was almost too adorable to watch.

Neal tore his eyes away from the baby to look at them. "Peter… Elizabeth… what can I say?" His voice was thick with emotion. Too overcome to be his usually so eloquent self, the quick-witted con artist who could talk the nurses here into anything – from coffee to insurance coverage. But there was nothing false about this moment. No pretense.

Peter and Elizabeth couldn't pretend that the name they had given their son was without meaning. And they didn't want to either. A lot of things had been said. A lot of decisions questioned. But there was no regret here. Neither one of them would ever regret the love – the love they had for each other, for their son, and for the man holding him. Which should have been impossible, but life, as it turned out, had other plans. And Elizabeth's heart decided once and for all that this was a good thing.

She took a step towards both Neals and rested one hand on her son's head and the other on adult Neal's arm. "Say that you'll come home with us," she said softly.

When she mentioned home, a gleam of excitement lit up his eyes. "Do I still have one?"

"If you're talking about June's, she never found a new tenant. I don't think she really looked for one, actually," Elizabeth told him. "But even if she had, I'm sure this Neal would be willing to share his room with you." She laughed quietly as she stroked her son's hair.

Neal grinned as if he wouldn't mind that either, but then he looked from her to Peter as if to make sure that he agreed.

"Well, if he doesn't, I guess Satchmo would make some room for you," Peter teased, but his eyes were too tender, too eager to have both Neals home for that joke to sting.

Even so, Neal didn't seem to mind that option either, but his look still sobered. "You're sure it's safe?"

"I'm sure the Panthers are no longer a danger to anyone," Peter replied.

Neal nodded. He seemed to understand what was left unsaid. "What about the police?"

"I handled it. You're officially in the clear," Peter told him. "But Neal, I only did this because I saw the fantôme's rap sheet and because the painting was technically never taken. If you pull another stunt like that without telling me once we're back home and I have my badge back, that's it!"

"Right, so no more breaking the law unless I tell you about it…"

"Neal!"

"Peter, I get it. And I promise I will do whatever you need me to do with my… with James," Neal said, no more trace of humor in his voice.

The two men shared a look that seemed to say whatever still needed to be said, and Peter nodded.

"Wait. James as in your father James?" Mozzie chimed in, clearly irritated that he was out of the loop – again.

Before he could demand answers, the door to the waiting room was opened once again, and there was a clearly audible gasp that made them all turn around.

It was Sara, and naturally, her eyes were glued to the sight of Neal, standing in the middle of the room, still every bit as handsome and also still holding the baby. "You goddamn bastard!" she cursed once she had recovered from her initial shock. "You really are alive!"

"Did you think I was making all of that up?" Peter asked, frowning.

"Honey," Elizabeth said in a low voice, warning him to stay out of it.

Both Neal and Sara had ignored his comment anyway. Neal especially looked completely unprepared for this meeting.

"Sara?! What are you doing here?"

"The concierge saw Elizabeth leave the hotel in a hurry with a screaming baby. When I got in, he asked me if I knew if everything was okay. I figured that Neal's fever must have taken a turn for the worse, and the concierge said that this is the best children's hospital. I came to see if Elizabeth needed help," Sara explained. It was more of an explanation for Peter and Elizabeth than for Neal. But he was clever enough to fill in at least some of the blanks.

He looked at Peter. "You said you didn't tell anyone else!"

"I didn't tell Sara. Not technically. She broke into our hotel room and found out on her own," Peter pointed out.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you one for technicalities?"

"It's annoying, isn't it?" Peter replied smugly.

Sara huffed. "Is that all you have to say to me, Neal?"

"That depends on which Neal you were hoping to talk to," he joked, turning so Sara could see the baby better.

"Oh no, you won't put my son in the middle of this," Elizabeth protested and reached out to take the baby from him. "Let's go talk to Dr. Bernard again," she said to Peter. He nodded and they were about to leave the room. "Mozzie?" Elizabeth called out to him to follow them.

"I'm good. I've had enough doctors for three lifetimes," Mozzie replied.

Elizabeth shot him a look. "Moz!"

"But I guess I can give you a second opinion if you need one," he said when he finally got the hint.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him and ushered all of them out of the room.

* * *

Usually, Neal would have appreciated Elizabeth's womanly tact, which more often than not compensated for Peter's pricklier side. But now that everyone who had just forgiven him had left the room, he felt a little abandoned. Especially since he was left with the one person who looked as furious as all of them combined.

"So, you got Peter into that gala," Neal made an educated guess. He had suspected Elizabeth because she was usually Peter's ace in the hole when it came to stuff like this. The Louvre gala was an extremely exclusive event, however. Too exclusive – even for a resourceful New Yorker event planner. Sara on the other hand could have used her Sterling Bosch contacts. But Neal hadn't been aware that she and the Burkes were close enough to work together like this.

"I did," Sara confirmed. "I didn't think you would actually..." She shook her head. "I have no idea what I was thinking, really."

Clearly, she hadn't thought that they would be having this conversation today. Well, that made two of them.

As unexpected as it was, it was great to see her. Neal had this image of her forever burned in his memory. Of the two of them standing at the very top of the Empire State Building. A faint blush to her cheeks because of the extreme height. Her red hair alive in the wind. Her hands on his chest, for once holding on rather than letting go. And that private smile on her lips as if they were the only two people in all of New York City.

In that moment, they had been. It had been the summation of their entire relationship. Up in the clouds. Full of passion. Bordering on insanity. One breath shy of perfection. And never meant to last.

But Sara still looked the same. Right down to that fire in her eyes that had first attracted Neal to her. She was never going down without a fight. Still, Neal would have preferred to avoid one right now.

"You look good," he said when Sara wouldn't elaborate on her feelings.

"So do you – for a dead guy," she replied sharply.

"Listen, I know you're angry, but it was never my intention to upset anyone." Neal sighed. He felt like his explanations were getting worse every time. He knew he owed everyone this much and that their anger came from a good place. It was touching even, as far as getting yelled at and being called names could be touching. But it was also tiring.

Not for Sara, of course. For her, this was only round one. "Oh, really? You thought no one would care about your death? Not even you could be that self-centered!"

"I did hope for a nice eulogy. You didn't happen to film that by any chance?"

Sara's eyes were ablaze with fury, telling Neal that he wasn't going to joke his way out of this.

"Too soon? Okay, I'm sorry. But I didn't think you would be this upset." That much was true. He had expected Mozzie to air his grievances very loudly and very colorfully, followed by lots of wine drinking. He had tried to prepare himself for Peter's cold fury and bitter disappointment, and he had hoped for leniency from Elizabeth. But he had never come up with a scenario for Sara.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"You did leave for London," Neal reminded her. At the time, he had actually been thinking about this thing between them and whether they could be serious again. But then Sara had told him about that promotion. And he wasn't going to chain her to an anklet if she could run the London branch of Sterling Bosch instead.

"And you ran off to a freaking island!" Sara countered. Clearly, he would never live that down.

"Technically, Great Britain is an island, too. So that would make us even," Neal gave it a try.

Sara laughed humorlessly. "It's nowhere near the same, and you know that. Also, we've had this conversation before."

"See, just like old times," Neal said, going for a cautious smile.

"Except now I can no longer feel like I want to kill you because you already went ahead and did that," Sara pointed out, and Neal wasn't sure if she was kidding or not. "And apparently, I wasn't even on the list of people you thought about before you did it!"

"You weren't on the list because you were smart enough to save yourself!" Neal shot back. "I was glad that you went to London, Sara. That you were far away from me. Because the Panthers wouldn't come after you. Because it made you the one person whose life I wouldn't ruin."

Sara paused when she thought about what he was saying. She sounded more collected when she asked, "The Panthers as in the Pink Panthers? This group of thieves you went undercover with so Peter could arrest them?"

"I didn't just go undercover with them. I ruined a 500-million-dollar heist for them. They would have killed me half a billion times for that. And the only way to do that would have been killing everyone I love."

And there it was. The moment when they all understood his dilemma, or parts of it at least. To Neal's relief not even Sara's anger was a match for it.

"So you killed yourself first."

Neal nodded. He was so tired of defending himself. He knew everyone had been hurting because of him, but it hadn't been easy for him either. It's not as if he had wanted to lie to everyone. It's not as if he had wanted to leave. Well, he hadn't made a decision about that yet. But he had wanted to get that damn anklet off the right way. He had wanted Peter to tell him that he was officially a free man. And he had wanted the chance to choose to stay – or go – but to choose regardless. But that choice had been taken from him. He had lost something, too.

"You could have left us a note or some kind of warning. The Panthers are in prison. I'm sure there would have been a way to keep up appearances," Sara said, having swiftly moved on from anger to bargaining.

"I couldn't risk it. You know Moz, and Peter. They would have tried to help. But I couldn't let them. Certainly not with Elizabeth being pregnant at the time."

"That's sweet, but you do know that you're not solely responsible for protecting them, right? Peter is an FBI agent, and Elizabeth married him with both eyes open. And Mozzie... he must have more lives than a cat. That's the only explanation why he is even still alive!"

Neal suppressed a smirk. "I know that. I know Peter could have gone after the Panthers on his own. But he probably wouldn't have gotten close to them without me. I brought the Panthers to him. I got him on the case. I made him stake his career on it, and I pulled him inside the gang. I did that. So I had to undo it, too."

"Okay, it's Peter and Elizabeth. I get that. But what about me?" Sara wanted to know. "Why come to Paris? Why not London? It's over eight million people. No one would have found you. And I can protect myself."

To say that the thought hadn't crossed his mind would have been a lie. He had definitely thought about it. But in the end, it would have been too much of a risk. In more ways than one. "I thought we had agreed. Amis-amants. No strings attached. And a gang of ruthless, dangerous thieves who would have wanted to kill you if they had found out about you seemed like a pretty big string to me."

Sara took a step closer to him, and Neal couldn't help but notice that she also still smelled as good as he remembered. "Maybe I would have wanted the chance to decide that for myself," she challenged him.

Neal should have taken a step back, but his feet wouldn't budge. Sara wanted a chance. A choice. It was the same thing he had wanted. Except, he had a tendency to choose the wrong thing. What if Sara would make the wrong choice as well? What if she chose him? It wasn't a good idea.

There was no way up from the top of the Empire State Building. Only down. A long way down.

"Officially, I'm still dead. I'm not even really here," he said.

But maybe, just maybe, after having confirmed that Sara looked and smelled as good as she always had, Neal felt the need to find out if she also still tasted the same.

"Sure looks to me like you're here," Sara argued, not backing down and not stepping away. On the contrary, her gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips and back up.

Neal had liked their goodbye up in the clouds. He had liked remembering them that way. But now here they were. It was too late. One way or another, they would have to make new memories...

He reached out, one hand cupping Sara's cheek, the other going into her hair to the back of her head, and he pulled her in. Their lips crashed into each other, as if they knew that they had a lot to catch up on. It wasn't Neal's finest work, but what it lacked in finesse, it made up for in passion and urgency. Their tongues weren't dancing so much as they were fighting a battle.

Neither one of them seemed to know how to win it, though. And they didn't care to either. For now, this was all they needed – an unloading of anger and pain and relief and a little bit of hope in a sloppy mess of tangled hair, glued lips, and mingled breath.

And it ended just as quickly.

"Luc?"

Though he had never really liked the name, Neal had still trained himself to answer to it. So he broke the kiss and stepped back from Sara to look at Elaine, who was standing in the doorway to the waiting room in her pink shrubs, looking confused at best and irritated at worst.

Sara had almost the exact same look on her face. "Luc? Who's Luc? Neal?" she asked.

"Neal?" Elaine echoed. "I thought your friends' baby was named Neal!"

Neal looked from one woman to the other. He had a sudden flashback to when Peter had been undercover with a black widow and he had been terrified of telling Elizabeth that he was going to pretend to marry another woman. The whole thing had been hilarious at the time. Now, Neal realized that it wasn't all that funny when you were the one in the middle. Not that he was currently in an actual relationship with either one of these two women. Somehow that didn't make it any less awkward.

In the end, Neal decided to maintain his cover. "Neal is my middle name. Some of my American friends like it better than Luc," he tried to explain to Elaine in French.

She gave no indication as to whether she believed him or not. "And who is she?" she asked, nodding towards Sara.

"She's just an old friend. From the States. I had no idea they were coming," he told her, and that wasn't even a lie.

Nevertheless, Elaine didn't take it very well. "I see. Do me a favor, Luc, or whatever your name is, if any more of your 'friends' show up here, leave me out of it!" she said, turned around, and left.

Neal felt bad about hurting her, especially since she hadn't hesitated to help them earlier. But he had promised Peter to come back with him, and so he stopped himself from going after her. It was why he had never really committed to anything. It was probably best if Elaine thought that Luc was just another guy who had disappointed her so she wouldn't notice his disappearance.

"She sounded pretty angry," Sara observed.

"She's pulling a double shift today," Neal replied. "Those are tough."

"And you know that because...?"

Neal shrugged. "She's a friend."

Sara crossed her arms, clearly not fooled in the slightest. "Really? You couldn't let any of your actual, grieving friends know that you're still alive for more than a year, but you did have time to date?" she accused him.

"Don't tell me you didn't date," Neal said dubiously.

"I wasn't playing dead!"

"I wasn't _playing_ either."

Sara snorted. "Well, between robbing the Louvre and making out with a woman who saves babies for a living, you seem to have done all right."

"Did you want me to be miserable?" Neal asked.

Sara made a face. "Actually... yeah. I kind of did," she admitted, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "We were all miserable, you know."

"Believe me, I do," Neal assured her.

That didn't make Sara look any happier, but once again they were interrupted, this time by the ringing of Sara's phone.

"It's the office. I need to take this," she said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Sara frowned. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Neal chuckled and let her take that phone call.

When she walked out of the room, Neal collected the coffee mugs so he could return them. If he happened to run into Elaine again, then maybe they could have a nicer goodbye after all. Instead, he ran into Mozzie.

"How's Neal?" Neal asked him, though it still felt strange to ask that question.

"Oh, he will be fine. He's a tough little guy. And with both of his parents watching over him, he has nary a thing to worry about," Mozzie replied, and that was certainly true.

"How's Sara?" Mozzie asked in return.

Neal shrugged. "Jury's still out."

Mozzie nodded. "I figured." After a short pause, he asked, "So, how does it feel to pass on your name to the next generation of potentially brilliant minds?"

"I don't know." Neal Burke. It was still bizarre to think about. Even inside his own head. "Can you be jealous of a baby?"

"Usually, I'd say it's cause for concern, but in this case, I know what you mean," Mozzie agreed.

Neal sighed. A part of him really was a little jealous of his namesake. But at the same time, he wanted this baby to have everything. A stable home, the unwavering support and love of his devoted parents, and no shortage of people who cared for him and who would be there to help him if he ever got into trouble.

He wanted to know that there was one Neal out there who got it all.

"You could have told me, you know," Neal said before he could get misty-eyed.

"And ruin the surprise?" Mozzie asked theatrically, as if the mere suggestion was unthinkable. "Plus, I was under the impression that we had agreed not to talk about the lives we had left behind."

Neal's brow furrowed. "I never said that."

"But you didn't ask either."

Mozzie was right. He had tried to stay away from temptation (since he had already given in once by sending out those clues), and Mozzie had known him well enough to know that.

"So, I take it, since our previous lives have caught up with us again, this is the end of our little adventure in this fine city?" Mozzie asked, and the regret in his voice was unmistakable.

Once he had gotten over his righteous indignation about being lied to and left behind, he had quickly adapted to their new situation and made himself right at home here in Paris. Mozzie had always been the one to insist that it was a conman's blessing as well as his curse to never stay in the same place for too long.

"I know you love it here, Moz. But I promised Peter I would help him. I thought I only had to worry about the Panthers. I never thought my death would make my father come after Peter."

"What exactly did James do?" Mozzie wanted to know.

Neal told him the only thing he could tell him, namely Peter's version of events.

"So either the Suit lets James stay out there and risks his career by not arresting a man on an admittedly impressive crime spree, who may or may not be looking for revenge, or he takes him in and also risks his career and his family?" Mozzie summed it up. "I have to say, that is devious. But I did have a bad feeling about James before I pulled that switch on him with the evidence box."

"A feeling that he might try to trick us, not that he would come after us," Neal reminded him. "Of course, that was before we made him into a fugitive for life."

"He had it coming, Neal. And technically, he's not coming after you, he's coming after the Suit."

"Because of me! Because of the mess I made. Ever since I started looking for my father, Peter's been both to the hospital and to prison. I thought I had made it right, but clearly, I failed. I have to do better this time."

"We," Mozzie corrected him. "We need to do better this time."

"Moz..."

"No. I was the one who made that fake confession, Neal. If that's part of why the Suit is in trouble now, then I'll have to help. I will not let James hurt El and the baby!" Mozzie said passionately.

Neal smiled at him. "You can be quite the Papa Bear, you know that?"

Mozzie cocked his head. "I will take that as a compliment."

"It was."

"So, we're going home?" Mozzie asked.

"I thought people like us didn't have a home," Neal said. "I thought you said it was a meaningless concept for people like us who knew better than to go looking for white-picket fences and the approval of other people."

Mozzie seriously seemed to contemplate that. "Well, I don't recall a lot of white-picket fences outside your window. And I may have overlooked that there are some people worth looking out for."

Neal grinned. "Then yes, we're going home."


	11. Homecoming

**A/N: I was really sorry to hear about Diahann Carroll's passing. She was, among other things, a wonderful member of the White Collar family. And that's what this story is all about. So here is an extra long chapter. Thanks to all of you for your continued support.**

* * *

"Okay, we now have tickets for a non-stop flight back to New York for all of us, including your alias," Peter said, looking at Neal. "You're sure it's going to hold up?"

Neal smirked. "You realize who you're talking to, right?"

Peter rolled his eyes at him. "Unfortunately, yes," he said, sitting down next to Elizabeth.

They had decided to meet in the Burke's hotel room to talk strategy. For once, they were all on the same page. Or at least, there was hope. Peter and Elizabeth were on the couch, Neal and Mozzie were sitting at the table, facing them, and Sara stood by the window, leaning against the window sill with her arms crossed. The baby was asleep in the next room.

"It's only for the trip home," Neal assured Peter. "Once we're back in New York, we need to let James know that I'm alive anyway. So he has one less reason to be angry at you."

"No. It might not be enough. My only guarantee is to get to him before he gets to us. I want him, Neal. I want him bad," Peter said. The look in his eyes really left no doubt about that.

"Do you want him arrested, or do you want him dealt with in a more permanent manner?" Mozzie was brazen enough to ask. Well, he was the only one in the room who had taken out a hit on someone before.

Peter was a lot of things – a killer was not one of them. Even when they had still been chasing each other, and despite Mozzie's repeated attempts to make every G-Man look like the devil, Neal had always known that about Peter Burke. His heart was in the right place. But his heart was also telling him to do anything, anything at all, to protect his wife and son. Which was why he didn't answer Mozzie right away. Why he actually seemed to think about that question.

"Honey," Elizabeth said gently and put a hand on her husband's leg. That was all it took.

"Let's start with the first option," Peter decided.

Neal had no particular interest in leaving Mozzie's 'more permanent' solution on the table, but he did feel like he needed to point something out. "May I remind you that he has everything he needs to destroy your career – at the very least?"

"But after everything James has done, why would anyone believe him? Shouldn't bringing him in for his actual crimes be more important than what you and Neal did or did not do two years ago?" Elizabeth asked, clearly uneasy.

Now it was Peter who reached for her hand and squeezed it. "It very well could be," he told her, but it was a little too obvious that he was only saying that to make her feel better. "Either way, it's not important right now. We need to catch him first."

"And how do we do that?" asked Sara. "From what you've told me, even you couldn't find him when he disappeared after Peter got arrested."

"He had very good reason to go completely off the grid back then. But now that he's back and been staying close to New York, all we need is for him to come a little too close," Neal replied.

"Why would he risk that?"

"Because he can, and because he wants Peter to know that he can," Neal said, and his words almost made him flinch. The same could have been said about him once upon a time. The look on Peter's face told him that he knew exactly what he was thinking, but he didn't comment.

It was Elizabeth who asked, "And how does that help us?"

"Well, how do you catch a fly?"

"With honey?" Elizabeth suggested.

"Actually, that is a common misconception because of the popularity of that saying. Vinegar does, in fact, work a lot better," Mozzie chimed in.

Neal sighed. "Thank you for the biology lesson, Moz... Whatever it is that flies want, we need to get James what _he_ wants. What every self-respecting conman wants."

"The perfect score," Peter guessed before Neal could elaborate.

Maybe they really were back on the same page. "One that looks like he's going to get away with it easily but is actually under our control," Neal agreed.

"After what happened at the Met and the DeArmitt Gallery, there won't be a lot of museums or galleries willing to take that risk," Peter mused.

Neal considered that. Then he smiled at Elizabeth. "You still run Burke Premiere Events, don't you?"

Elizabeth looked surprised and a little hesitant, but she nodded. "I do... yes."

It was Peter who shook his head. "No."

"Peter..." Neal didn't get to say more than that.

"No! I'm not getting my wife involved in this," Peter cut him off, and Neal was wise enough to shut up. He had learned never to push back when it came to certain arguments – and the matter of Elizabeth's safety was at the top of that list.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. "Honey, you were the one who wanted me to come to Paris with you," Elizabeth picked up the task of reasoning with her husband since she was the only one who could do that safely.

"To get you and Neal away from James!" Peter argued.

"Right. Because he threatened our son. Because you think he's dangerous. So if you want to go after him now, you better not try to do it without me," Elizabeth said, steel and determination creeping into her voice. "What do you need me to do, Neal?" she asked.

Neal looked from Peter to Elizabeth, trying to decide who scared him more. "We need you to host an event no art connoisseur..."

"You mean thief," Peter muttered.

"Same difference," Mozzie interjected.

"... could pass up," Neal finished his sentence, side-eyeing both of them.

Peter wouldn't give up. "We could find someone else to organize that."

"Yes, but it won't be as effective without your name on it. James won't be able to resist stealing from you to prove that there's nothing you can do about it. From what you've told me about those messages he left, that's the only thing that will actually make this into the perfect score for him," Neal patiently made his case. "Elizabeth will be perfectly safe. She's not the bait, her name on the event is."

It was obvious that Peter still hated the idea. But the FBI agent in him seemed to realize that by using Burke Premiere Events they would have complete control over the situation and that this had the makings of a plan that might actually work. That, and he was probably too afraid to tell Elizabeth no.

"There is one problem," she cautioned. "Burke Premiere Events hasn't had a major client like that since I got pregnant."

"I'm sure we can create one for you. A French gentleman you met while on vacation in Paris perhaps. One who happens to be camera-shy but who recently inherited some very valuable pieces of art that he had no idea were in the possession of his family. And you convinced him to share them with the rest of the world and to see if someone who appreciates them more would like to buy them," Neal easily spun a tale that sounded plausible enough in his ears.

"Where would we get the art?" Elizabeth wondered.

Neal looked at Mozzie. "We might have a couple of pieces that no one knows about, including James."

Mozzie meanwhile glanced at Peter, reluctant to speak freely in his presence. Neal understood where he was coming from. Old habits really did die hard sometimes. Still, he said, "I think we're past that, Moz."

His friend nodded, albeit hesitantly. "I'm sure we could provide you with a small collection."

Peter clenched his jaw as he fought the impulse to investigate where that collection had come from. "I'm not sure that's enough," he said. "Even if Elizabeth is doing the event, a bunch of random art might not be interesting enough for James."

"Well, we could always..."

"No." Peter wouldn't even let Mozzie speak.

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Mozzie complained.

"Yes, I do. And the answer is no," Peter insisted. And this time he wouldn't budge. He was desperate enough to be open to a lot of ideas, but stealing something first so they could then offer it to James to steal – that was too much. And it wasn't an option anyway. If they were to steal a famous painting, everyone would know about it. Trapping James would never work that way.

"There are other ways to get our hands on something special," Neal said quickly before the tension could get any worse. "It just needs to be special enough. I think the third and final painting in Armand Girardot's 'Ships in the Night' series would do nicely."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "There is no third painting in that series."

Neal shot her a grin. "Exactly."

Peter's eyes went back and forth between his wife and his former CI. "Would you two like to share with the rest of the class?"

"Armand Girardot was a famous French artist," Elizabeth explained. "He is most known for a series of paintings he called 'Ships in the Night.' Beautiful work. The paintings are numbered, and we know from his correspondences that there used to be three. According to Girardot, the third one was the culmination of his work, his greatest accomplishment before he died. Unfortunately, it was destroyed during the Nazi occupation of France."

"It is believed to have been destroyed," Neal corrected her. "Really it just went missing. And what's missing can be found again. Who's to say that it wasn't hidden away in a French family's basement all this time?"

"You're talking about creating a forgery," Peter caught up quick.

"I know what you're thinking. But as long as we don't actually sell it or take money from anyone to see it, it's not a crime. Not a serious one anyway. Plus, we would only be doing it to catch a murderer. We've done this kind of thing before. The FBI lies to people all the time."

"To criminals, Neal, not the rest of the art world," Peter said darkly. "If we don't catch James, this will blow up in all of our faces." He sighed. "The painting would have to be authenticated or no one would believe it. By someone outside of the FBI. Are you sure you can pull that off?" he asked, catching Neal by surprise. He had expected more pushback, but Peter seemed to be coming around.

Neal suppressed a grin. This was it then – one last hurrah. "I can pass off Girardot's technique, and we can get the colors and the canvas we need from other paintings of that time. But it depends on how thoroughly they would test it."

"I can get it authenticated," Sara spoke up unexpectedly.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"Sterling Bosch works with a number of independent authenticators. It's standard procedure," she explained.

"Sara..."

"You just do the best you can, and I will get it done," she said to Neal. "I can get you insurance, too. Make it look real. No one would present a valuable painting like that to the public without insuring it first."

She was right, of course, and it would add a missing piece to their plan. But this time, Neal was the one who hesitated. "Are you sure your bosses would like Sterling Bosch to get mixed up in this?"

"We've worked with the FBI plenty of times before. And I'm my own boss now. I don't need permission," Sara replied lightly.

"Being your own boss doesn't mean that you can't get fired if this goes wrong," Neal reminded her.

Sara shrugged. "London isn't all it's cracked up to be anyway."

Neal shook his head. "I can't ask you to do that, Sara."

"You didn't ask me if you could fake your death either. Now I'm the one who isn't asking," Sara said, and her tone left no room for debate.

"You heard the lady, Neal," Mozzie filled the potentially awkward silence that would have ensued next. "You forge the painting. Sara convinces everyone that it's the real deal. El plans the unveiling, and that should be enough to lure James in so the Suit can arrest him."

"And what exactly are you doing?" Peter asked him.

"You could babysit," Neal suggested with a wry grin.

Mozzie bobbed his head. "I've heard worse ideas."

"It could work," Peter agreed, only a little bit grudgingly.

"Yes, but only under one condition."

"What?" Peter asked warily since Neal's eyes were on him.

"The FBI can be nowhere near the actual event – and that means no gray van outside, no unmarked cars, and no undercover agents."

Peter looked at him as if he had gone completely insane. "Neal, the goal is to arrest James!"

"I know. But this needs to look real. We've worked with him before. He knows all your usual tricks, and he knows that you've used Elizabeth for your FBI operations more than once. If something doesn't feel right about this, he won't bite," Neal said. "But you can still arrest him after he has taken the painting. We just have to make sure that we can track him. I can paint over a GPS tracker – he'll never know. We let him steal the painting, track it and him the entire time, and then you can bring your whole team and arrest him when he thinks he's in the clear."

"And once we have him and he's no longer a threat, we can get his former crew to turn on him and connect him to all four thefts, including the murder of the Met guard, and possibly even Woodford," Peter finished that thought.

Neal nodded. "And Burke Premiere Events and Sterling Bosch can advertise that they worked with the FBI."

But the frown on Peter's face wouldn't go away. Neal could tell that he didn't like the idea of staying on the sidelines. He didn't like it one bit. "It's risky, Neal. There's a real chance that James could find a way to slip away again. And I'm leaving my wife in there unprotected." Gazing at Elizabeth, he shook his head. "No, it's not worth it."

Elizabeth also turned to face him fully. "Hon, don't you want our life back?" she implored him. "Don't you want Neal to be safe?" She glanced at Neal. "Both of them. If you think this is our best chance, then I'll be fine."

Peter searched her face for an answer he could live with. But Neal knew that Elizabeth had already won him over. She had never needed anyone to teach her how to use those blue eyes of hers.

"Okay, Neal, if we're sure that tracking the painting works, we can try it your way," he agreed eventually.

Elizabeth smiled and that always did wonders for Peter's mood. So for a moment, everything was good.

"I hate to be the one to rain on our parade, but there's still the matter of James ruining your life if you arrest him," Mozzie reminded them. "I know you said it's not important right now, but it kind of seems to me like it should be."

"I thought we said that no one would believe him?" Elizabeth asked. "I mean, he's the criminal, not Peter!"

"The problem is that James' confession is still the only reason Peter wasn't indicted for Pratt's murder – a confession that he never actually made," Neal said.

"And I made a believable facsimile of James' voice. But if James' lawyer gets someone to compare that to his actual voice – someone who wasn't bribed, I mean – then it won't hold up," Mozzie was forced to agree.

"Okay, so I would get indicted, and they would have to reopen the murder trial. But with James in custody this time and charged with all his other crimes, there'd be more than enough reasonable doubt not to convict me, even if there's no proof that he shot Pratt," Peter argued.

"It would still be the end of your FBI career," Neal warned him, not for the first time. "Not to mention if James really gets your former prosecutor to talk, they will also know that you aided and abetted in everything Moz, Hagen, and I did by finding out about it, and that you were complicit in covering it up."

"And you would have to stay dead, unless you would want to join Peter in prison," Mozzie said to Neal.

Sara looked slightly confused since she hadn't been around when all of this happened. "Wouldn't it be the prosecutor's word against yours?"

Peter heaved a sigh. "Doesn't matter. It's the truth. I won't perjure myself on top of everything else. And it's not murder. If I plead guilty, I can probably get a good deal. When I decided to let Dawson give back the coins anonymously and retire, I thought I had found a way for no one to get hurt, but I was wrong. I broke the law, and if it comes to that, I'll have to do the time. But so is James."

"No!" This time it was Elizabeth who protested. "I won't just sit here and talk about you going back to prison!"

"Honey, it won't be the same as when I was on trial for murder..." Peter tried to hold her hand again, but she pulled away from him.

"What does it matter what it's for?" she interrupted him, understandably upset and getting more so by the minute. "How is Neal not seeing his father for I don't know how long a solution?"

"Because at least he'll be safe," Peter said, making a real effort to stay calm.

Elizabeth on the other hand did not. "No, he won't! Not if you're not there. You said that James could still hurt us from prison! How is that any different now?"

"Because now you're not alone anymore. Right?" Peter looked towards Neal and Mozzie.

The latter didn't even hesitate to answer and beat Neal to it. "Of course. But Suit, it goes against my very nature to agree to a plan that ends with one of us in the big house."

"We don't know that it will. What's important is that we get James. And then, if there really is no other way out of this, we'll go from there," Peter said, and it sounded reasonable enough. But it was clear on everyone's faces that no one in the room agreed with him.

Perhaps that's why Peter looked relieved when the baby monitor warned them that baby Neal was waking up and crying for attention. "I'll go," he said, and Elizabeth didn't stop him.

Instead, she waited for Peter to leave the room and turned off the baby monitor "Okay, so what's the real plan?" she asked, her eyes ablaze.

She rarely ever got mad, but when she did, it was a scary sight. Peter had once said that Elizabeth was armed with a very disapproving look. That was definitely true and then some. When Peter had ended up in the hospital and Neal had been indirectly responsible, she had made him feel like the worst human being on the face of this earth. Well, he had already felt like that anyway, but looking into her eyes had made it even worse.

Now, Neal looked at Mozzie, who said, "Uh... we could pay Dawson before your father does. All he needs is money, right? And if he takes our money, he doesn't have to throw himself into jail by confessing to his crimes as well as Peter's. I'm pretty sure that gives us the advantage."

It was a rather pragmatic and decidedly illegal approach, and this time it was Neal who felt uncomfortable with it. He was willing to cross a lot of lines, but only when he could control the damage. It was one thing for him and Moz to be talking about this, but just by listening, Elizabeth and Sara could end up incriminating themselves, too.

"Maybe we should table that idea for now," Neal tried to tell Mozzie as much.

That didn't go over well with Elizabeth. "Stop trying to protect me! I'm in on this, whether you like it or not. This is my family we're talking about. I'm not letting my husband go back to jail! I don't care what it takes," she clarified. "But we don't have that kind of money."

Mozzie's eyes darted from Elizabeth to Neal and back, not quite sure what to do now. "We do," he said eventually, which was proof how much he trusted and cared for Elizabeth because Mozzie never admitted to anything.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "You're talking about the 14 million dollars that were never recovered after the Pink Panthers got arrested," she deduced, sounding a lot like Peter.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that, since I had to learn the hard way that you refuse to keep secrets from the Suit, but suffice it to say that we do have a certain amount of money – for a rainy day," Mozzie replied cleverly.

"Okay, but guys, if you pay off the prosecutor, aren't you setting yourselves up for a vicious circle? Couldn't this come back to bite us in the ass one day?" Sara chimed in, and Neal was struck by the absurdity of the situation. They should have been debating whether to get takeout or not, not the pros and cons of committing a crime. It made him think of Peter and he imagined him sitting in a corner, crying like a baby, or, maybe, crying _with_ the baby.

"Sara's right," he said. "And even with Dawson out of the picture, there's still the matter of Peter's indictment for Pratt's murder. The only way to stop all this is by stopping James, and no, Moz, I don't mean permanently."

"How else then?"

Neal sighed. "I guess I'll have to talk to him." He didn't want to, but at the same time he knew he had to.

"That didn't work out so well the last time, though," Mozzie reminded him.

"Last time I wasn't back from the dead."

"I like talking. Talking sounds good," Elizabeth agreed. "But what if he doesn't listen?"

"Then we can still figure out something else. There's always room for a plan B," Neal assured her.

"And what's that?" she asked. "I know you're already thinking of... something."

The look on Elizabeth's face was almost as piercing as Peter's whenever he tried to determine what Neal was up to. Neal wondered if she knew how much she had learned from her husband.

"I know you want to help. I hear you, Elizabeth. But I really think we should keep this conversation hypothetical. For Peter's sake and ours."

Elizabeth held his gaze for a long moment, then she nodded. "Okay. I trust you."

Neal waited for a condition or a restriction, but it never came.

And he knew he would do whatever it took.

* * *

The plane had reached cruising altitude and the baby was finally asleep. This time, Neal had cried a little during takeoff, but together Peter and El had calmed him down and distracted him until he had drifted off to sleep. Thanks to the antibiotics, they had quickly gotten rid of the ear infection and he was almost completely healthy again. Hopefully, he would sleep off the rest and not wake up again until they had made it back to New York.

But it was going to be a long flight. El's head was turned towards the window, watching the thick blanket of clouds that seemed endless from up here. She hadn't said one word to him that wasn't about the baby. Peter sighed and reached for her hand. To his relief, she let him hold it, but she still wouldn't look at him.

He lifted her hand to his lips. "Talk to me, hon."

"What do you want me to say?" she asked.

"Anything," Peter replied. This silent treatment was killing him. He had no idea how to deal with it. In fifteen plus years of marriage El had never given him any reason to. Of course, it occurred to him now that she might have saved it so it would have the desired effect when she really needed it to. But that was something Neal would do. El wouldn't do that. Although they had been spending more time together...

Peter shook his head. This wasn't helping. "I want us to talk about this."

Finally, El looked at him, but it wasn't a good look. "No, what you want is for me to agree with the decision you have already made without me. That's not talking about it."

Her words were like a gut punch. It was true – to a point. His mind had been made up ever since he had resisted the primal urge to shoot James and be done with it. But only because there was no other way. No matter what Neal and Mozzie said. What happened last time was proof of that. In fact, they were only in this situation because Peter had gone against his better judgment before.

"That's not fair. I listen to you. I listened to you last time. I didn't arrest Neal, and I didn't arrest Dawson, and now here we are."

When Peter realized what he had just said, it was already too late. El's eyes widened in disbelief and anger. "Oh, so now it's my fault? I'm sorry I didn't want us to lose everything. I'm sorry I'm that selfish."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

"I meant that I love you, and because I love you and because I heard what you said, I decided to compromise," Peter tried to explain.

El frowned. "But this time you won't. Even though we have more reason than ever now that we have Neal. At least think about him if what I want doesn't matter."

Peter was beginning to think he should have accepted the silence between them because this was really not going well. "That's ridiculous. Of course what you want matters to me."

"Just not enough to change anything. Probably because it's so ridiculous."

Scratch that. This wasn't just not going well. This was a complete disaster.

"Okay, time-out," Peter called. "El, you know I always think of you – and our son – no matter what I do. Last time, I made a compromise that didn't sit right with me and that ultimately didn't work. But even if I wanted to do that again, I can't. Because the only choice I have is to protect you and Neal."

Thankfully, El seemed to think about that at least. "I understand that. I do. But the only way to protect us is by not leaving us. I thought that's what we agreed on when we decided to go to Paris as a family."

Her voice was softer now and so were her eyes, which gave Peter hope that he had managed to turn the corner just in time. "We did. But I can't be with you all the time when we're back home."

"Then maybe we should have just stayed in Paris," El said.

Peter didn't want to break this fragile truce between them, but he couldn't help the frown on his face. "To do what?"

El shrugged. "Start over? Neal and Mozzie seemed to like it. We could have all started a new life here."

Peter scoffed. "You're not serious."

"Why? I know it sounds crazy, but how is it any worse than risking you going back to prison?" El challenged him, and he really couldn't tell if she expected a serious answer or not.

"What about the fact that we have a house and a dog and two jobs?"

"All of that will go away if you get convicted. Except for Satch, but I wouldn't be surprised if he got sick again if you were gone. We need you, hon."

Hearing her call him 'hon' again was a relief. And he wanted to agree with her and give her everything she wanted. But he couldn't.

"And I need you to be safe. How is that going to work with James still out there?" he had to argue.

"Maybe we have to trust that he won't hurt us if we don't hurt him. Especially now that Neal is still alive. I know that doesn't change what he did. What he said to you was terrible, and I would feel better if he were in jail, too. But not if you and him are a package deal. And somewhere in there, there has to be the man who used to be a good cop and a loving father. Who just made a mistake."

"He made more than a mistake, El," Peter reminded her. He loved that she could always see the good in people. Many times, she had stopped him from judging too harshly. But not this time.

"I know. But what if punishing him for it – at any cost – will be our mistake?"

Now it was El who was holding his hand and pleading with him rather than the other way around. And suddenly Peter wished he hadn't made her do that, because he realized that he still couldn't give her the answer she wanted.

"I can't let him go free, El. I just can't. It's not what I believe in. It's not who I am," he said, and he could tell that El understood, but that was not the same as agreeing with it.

"That's the FBI agent in you. What about the father?" she asked.

"He won't be able to sleep either until the man who threatened to hurt our son is in a high-security prison."

"Even if it's with you in the cell right next to him?"

Peter shook his head. "It doesn't have to come to that."

"Excuse me if I don't find that very reassuring," El said unhappily, and Peter could feel this going sideways again.

"I know you're worried, but I promised you that we would always be okay, and I still believe that," he said.

"What if I don't? Peter, I really don't know if I could take you being in prison again. Every time the phone rang, I was scared to death. Terrified that if I picked up, they would tell me that one of the bad guys you put away got to you and hurt you – or worse," El told him, and Peter hated thinking about what that must have been like for her. Actually, he hated everything about this conversation – the hurt on his wife's face most of all. "I didn't sleep for six weeks!"

He sighed. "Neither did I," he admitted.

Not because he had been afraid for his life but because he had worried what an indictment would mean for them, and because he had missed her. God, he had missed her. Whenever she had visited, El had put on a brave face for him, and Peter had appreciated that. But he had always known that she had only done that for his benefit. So no, he really didn't want this any more than his wife did.

"Then why would you put us through that again?" she asked.

Maybe for the first time in days Peter truly understood the choice Neal had faced. No matter what he did, there was a risk of someone getting hurt. There was no clean way out. In the end, the only question was which risk he was least willing to take. And then, all he could do was to bite the bullet and hope for the best – or beg for forgiveness.

* * *

Mozzie pressed the call button over their heads, causing Neal to roll his eyes at him.

"If you keep this up, they'll be out of wine before we're even halfway across the Atlantic," he warned him.

"That's why I'm drinking it all now. I'm hoping to be in a near comatose state by then," Mozzie replied.

"They have sleeping pills for that. Less expensive."

"Also, less enjoyable."

Neal sighed as a flight attendant approached their seats to take Mozzie's order. Nothing about being cramped into this tight space for seven hours seemed particularly enjoyable to him. One more reason to envy his namesake. He had heard the baby cry earlier a couple of rows in front of them. But now he seemed to be sound asleep, and he hadn't even needed wine in plastic cups.

The flight attendant brought Mozzie his refill. "Au revoir, mon amour!" he toasted towards the clouds outside the window and, supposedly, the city of Paris that they had left behind underneath.

"It doesn't have to be goodbye forever, Moz," Neal told him, because even for Mozzie that was a tad dramatic.

"Oh, you know I never say never. But this homecoming does have a rather permanent feel to it," he replied.

"What happened to 'For guys like us the only regret is permanence'?"

"That is still true. However, there are certain promises that naturally require the opposite of that, which is why I usually don't make any. But these are special circumstances," Mozzie explained, the wine making him use his hands as he talked more than usual. "Plus, you never listened to me anyway."

Neal looked thoughtfully out of the window next to him. "Maybe I should have."

"You definitely should have. But where is this sudden introspection coming from?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm sick of always wanting what I can't have."

Mozzie looked at him, his gaze still surprisingly sharp. "Is this about your relationship to your father, the Suit, or a certain redhead?"

"Maybe all of them. Or none of them." Neal shrugged.

"Sounds like you need this more than I do." Mozzie offered him his half-empty cup of wine, which was quite a grand gesture for him, but Neal shook his head. "For what it's worth, you're living your second chance, Neal. That alone is something most people want but cannot have."

Neal was about to respond to that little piece of wisdom when Sara surprised him by making her way down the aisle towards them. They hadn't seen her since she had boarded the plane before them.

"Switch seats with me," she said to Mozzie when she reached them.

Mozzie looked from her to Neal, but Neal couldn't really tell him what he wanted him to do. Sure, he wanted Sara to sit down, but he wasn't sure if that's what he should want.

Apparently, neither was Mozzie. "I can't. I'm currently in the middle of a three-stage plan, seeking the sweet oblivion of sleep," he refused.

Sara looked unfazed. "Senior employees of Sterling Bosch fly first class," was all she said.

Mozzie was on his feet so quickly, he almost spilled the rest of his wine. "Good luck," he said to Neal, and then he was gone.

"You gave up a seat in first class for me. I'm flattered," Neal said with a grin when Sara sat down.

"Don't be. I just didn't want to miss this chance to talk to you while you couldn't run away," she replied with a smile that was both sweet and a little threatening.

"I wasn't the one who walked away the other day," Neal pointed out.

"I took a phone call – after your girlfriend had interrupted us."

"She wasn't my girlfriend."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought being left behind by Neal Caffrey was an automatic qualification," Sara quipped.

Neal decided to go on offense as well. "Technically, I never left you. In fact, you had left me for London before I... left for Paris, and when I relocated to Cape Verde, you had already broken up with me."

"Because you were hiding a stolen Nazi treasure from me!" Sara shot back, and then made a face when she realized that they were having this conversation in a plane full of people, who could be listening. "And you didn't relocate, you started another international manhunt," she continued in a more subdued voice. "All of the taxes I have ever paid probably went right into catching you. How is anyone supposed to put up with that?"

"I never asked you to," Neal said earnestly. He might have wanted to. Several times. And he might have almost sort of asked her if she would run away with him (and the treasure). But that was in the past. Right now, he hadn't even asked her to sit down.

"I know you didn't."

And so Neal decided to turn the tables on her. "Then why are you here, Sara?"

She shifted in her seat to face him fully. "Because there's no security on this earth, only opportunity," she said, knowing Neal would recognize the quote since he had once quoted it to her. "And you, Neal Caffrey, seem to be an opportunity that I simply cannot pass up."

Neal mirrored her position so that their faces were close together. "You've been hanging around Islington, flirting with bad guys, haven't you?" he said, and he could tell that it was now Sara who was surprised that he remembered that story about the summer she had spent in London with her sister.

A smile spread across her face. "I may have. Smoked with street artists, too."

"How was that?"

"Enlightening. I admit there can be a certain appeal to breaking the rules."

Neal grinned. "Careful, Sara. That's a slippery slope."

"So I hear," she replied. "But I wasn't talking about stealing anything..."

"What then?"

"Making out on an airplane perhaps?" she suggested innocently.

Before Neal could respond, the plane shook and the seatbelt signs came on. He smirked at Sara. "Here's your chance to really be a rebel. We could make it to the toilets before the flight attendant comes to check that we're all strapped into our seats."

The sudden glimmer of excitement in Sara's eyes dimmed a little. "Is that really what you want your life to look like, though? Always running from something or someone?"

Neal leaned back in his seat, since, clearly, they were not going to make a run for the bathroom. "I think one way or another we're all running, whether we realize it or not. It's just a matter of whether we're running away or towards something."

"If you ask me, running towards something sounds a lot healthier."

"What would you be running towards then?"

"Well..." Sara said slowly, thinking. "I jumped on a plane when Elizabeth asked me for help, and now I'm on another plane to the states, lying to my employer about why I'm actually doing this. And there's only one common denominator in all of this. So, I'm guessing... you."

Somewhat surprised by her honesty, Neal decided to be honest as well. "That's funny. Because it always felt like you were running as far away from me as you could."

Sara gave a derisive snort. "Listen to the pot calling the kettle black."

"And now, the only place we're both going is in circles," Neal replied.

Heaving a sigh, Sara leaned back as well. "You're right. I shouldn't have come. This... us... it's insane."

"I wouldn't go that far..."

"Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result? That's the very definition of insanity," Sara pointed out.

She was right, of course. Of course, this wasn't a good idea. Of course, they had never worked out. The danger he posed never failed to attract Sara to him in the beginning. But then that spark between them always ended with one or both of them burning the entire house down. And right now, he didn't even have a house. Nothing to his name other than a fake tombstone and an empty grave.

Which also meant that he had nothing to lose. He was starting over – again. So why the hell shouldn't he make his own rules?

"Then let's change the result," he said, taking Sara's hand.

Sara looked from their hands back up into his eyes. "How?"

"Well, what about... Connie and Conrad?"

"What? Oh..." Sara's eyes widened when she remembered the vision she had painted for them once – of another life, a life where they would have settled down in Westchester and raised two children named after their father who had been (or still was – they hadn't really discussed that part) a conman. "Neal, that was a dream, nothing more. We're not actually those people. We're not Peter and Elizabeth," she said, but her voice was soft and full of barely disguised longing.

"Then what are we?" Neal pressed.

"We're... living in the clouds." Sara pointed towards the window.

Neal smiled. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"It's not. It can be fun. So much fun." She used her free hand to gently cup his cheek. Remembering all the good times they'd had was easy, so easy. "But it's not where you raise children."

"I didn't mean that literally. Naming them Connie and Conrad? That actually sounds like child abuse to me."

"See! You're already backing out again!"

"I'm not backing out! I told you, we can lock ourselves into that bathroom right now," Neal insisted.

"Oh, yes, great idea. So that next time you leave me, I'll be stuck with a kid, too?" Sara snapped.

Neal stared at her. "Is that really what you think of me?" He tried not to let it hurt him.

But it did.

Peter risked his career, his family, his life for him. Elizabeth was willing to welcome him back into her house. Sara freely admitted that she was still hung up on him, that she couldn't move on with her life. They all loved him in their own way, but they also let him know that they were always holding back – just a little bit, but a little bit that hurt like hell. And yes, maybe he had given them reason to do that. But maybe, he had only done those things because people always expected him to do just that. It was like he was stuck in a never-ending self-fulfilling prophecy.

At least, Sara looked pained as well. "I don't know, Neal. Every time I think I do, you turn around and do something even crazier. And you know I like that about you, but I also don't know how to trust you."

"Maybe that is because you've never actually tried," Neal challenged her.

"Oh, please, don't pretend like you're the victim here!" she shot back.

"Maybe I'm not. But neither are you. You chose to move to London."

"It's not like you asked me to stay."

"I proposed!"

"You fake-proposed so your father could steal something from the Empire State Building!"

"Would you have said yes if I had asked for real?"

"Would you have asked for real if it hadn't been for the con?"

Neal paused. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Sara made a face. "... no."

"Then what are we even doing here?"

"I don't know!"

They looked at each other, both of their faces flushed with anger, and he was either going to kiss her again or...

Sara huffed and stood, disappearing down the aisle of the plane.

Neal leaned his forehead against the small window, staring at those goddamn clouds.

But he was denied the luxury of being alone for a while to gather his thoughts when somebody else slid into the seat next to him. It was Peter.

"The seatbelt sign is on," Neal muttered, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

Peter ignored both his mood and the flight attendant who glared at him. "El is upset with me," he said, heaving a gigantic sigh.

At first, Neal wanted to tell him to suck it up because the kind of fights he and Elizabeth had were borderline ridiculous. It was like they were fighting about who loved whom more. They had no idea what a real fight even looked like. But then Neal reined in his anger that wasn't actually directed at Peter.

"So is Sara," he replied. "Upset with me. Not you."

Peter glanced at him. "Well, faking your own death does have that effect on people."

"So does risking jail time just so you can stand on principle," Neal countered.

"Touché," Peter acknowledged, but that didn't seem to motivate him to get back to his own seat.

"You realize if Elizabeth kicks you out, we're both homeless," Neal said.

Peter thought about that. "We could move in with Mozzie," he suggested.

They shared a look as they envisioned that scenario that could only end in a complete disaster. "You should probably just go back and apologize," Neal said quickly.

"Yeah, I definitely should," Peter agreed. "But not right now. The seatbelt sign is on."

"Oh, _now_ you care about that?"

Rather than answer that, Peter made himself comfortable, effectively boxing Neal in. "So, what have you been up to, _Luc?"_

"I'm never choosing the window seat again," Neal muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"I find that hard to believe. It's been over a year," Peter said. He seemed to love to bring that up.

Neal sighed. "You really want to talk about this now?"

"We could also talk about what's going on with you and Sara," Peter offered innocently.

"How much time do you have?" Neal tried to joke.

Peter's reply was swift. "About six more hours. So if there's anything you need to tell me, you should do it before we land on American soil."

"Okay, fine. But you already know most of it. And we're talking about Paris here, the city of love and art. Lots of things to do that don't need a statute of limitations – as hard as you may find that to believe."

"That's because with you it's never that easy."

"Well, I took a page out of your book this time," Neal said, winking at him. "Got an apartment, got a job..."

"Got a girlfriend," Peter chimed in.

Neal frowned. "Why is everybody so hung up on that?"

"I'm not. I'm just saying. She seemed nice."

"She was," Neal agreed curtly.

Peter gave him a long look before he said, "I appreciate you giving all of this up, Neal."

"The turbulences aren't bad enough for deathbed confessions, Peter," he teased.

But Peter refused to drop it. "I'm serious, Neal. I know I've been hard on you, but I can see that you've had something here. Something good. I mean, El nearly wanted to turn this plane around and stay."

"Really?" Neal's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"She was kidding. I think. But if she feels that way, then it must be worse for you."

Neal shook his head. "This isn't the life that was hard to give up," he admitted.

"No?" Peter asked.

"It's a beautiful city, but it was never real."

"What does real look like for Neal Caffrey?"

"I will let you know when I find it," Neal replied because he honestly wasn't sure what he was looking for at this point. Other than the Peter Burke stamp of approval perhaps.

"Maybe Sara could help," Peter suggested with a grin.

"She doesn't seem to think so," Neal said darkly.

"Maybe you should send her a 'I'm sorry I faked my death without telling you' card."

Neal rolled his eyes at Peter. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not taking advice on women from you."

"Suit yourself. From the two of us I'm the one who's been happily married for over fifteen years."

"Actually, right now, you're the one who's hiding from his wife's disapproval."

Peter made a face. "I don't see you running after Sara either."

"I have literally nothing to offer her," Neal said, the bitter truth of those words hitting him all over again when he said them out loud.

The look on Peter's face was both soft and hard at the same time. "We'll figure this out, Neal. James won't get away with this. Not this time."

It felt more than a little upside down that Peter was now trying to reassure him, even though Neal was responsible for bringing his father into both of their lives and wreaking havoc ever since. "Peter, I'm sorry…"

"You're not your father, Neal," Peter cut him off.

As good as it was to hear him say that, it left Neal with one blaringly obvious question. Who exactly was he? But he tried to shove that thought aside. This wasn't the right place or time for that kind of soul-searching.

"Speaking of which, how's fatherhood been treating you?" he asked instead.

It was clearly the one question that was able to transform Peter's entire face and replace those worry lines with a blissful smile.

"It's..." He paused, searching for the right words to describe it. "When I started at Quantico, I was a bloody rookie, a number cruncher who had played some Minor League baseball. I was scared senseless that first day. My instructors knew it, and they threw me to the wolves anyway. It's like that at first," he said, and Neal couldn't help a smile of his own. He wouldn't mind hearing more about young Peter.

"But then you get that first laugh. That moment when he recognizes you in the morning. That smile when he wants you to pick him up and make him feel safe because you're his whole world right now. And suddenly there's nothing that you want more than to make him happy. Nothing you wouldn't do. Nothing at all," Peter repeated thoughtfully. Then he grimaced. "And the rest of the time you just pray like hell that you won't screw him up."

Neal laughed. "I'm pretty sure you and Elizabeth are incapable of screwing him up even if you tried."

But Peter wasn't laughing. "I was serious the other day, you know. If something does go wrong, if I do get arrested, I don't want El to be alone – with the baby, the house, figuring out how to pay for a lawyer…"

Neal opened his mouth to say something, but Peter beat him to it. "Don't you dare offer me that goddamn money you and Mozzie stole from the Panthers!"

"Allegedly," Neal interjected.

Peter just shot him a withering look.

"Okay, no money," Neal agreed, raising his hands. "But you know Elizabeth and the baby will be fine. Seriously, you should try to stop Mozzie. He'll be offended that you felt you even had to ask." Neal wasn't sure why he was hiding behind Moz like that.

But Peter seemed to understand that he wasn't only talking about Mozzie. "Thank you," he said, and it was clear that he really meant that.

Neal still didn't know where they stood exactly. But Peter opening up to him about Elizabeth and trusting him and Moz to help her out if she needed them to... it felt like old times.

Feeling a little less caged, Neal followed Peter's example and relaxed in his seat. "So, how was the birth?" he asked with a curious grin. "Did you pass out?"

"Of course not!" Peter replied with a little too much vigor.

Neal wasn't fooled. "Did you want to?"

"Oh, definitely. I still haven't fully regained feeling in my right hand," Peter confessed, flexing his fingers as if he still vividly remembered how Elizabeth had held on to his hand and crushed it.

"Did you tell Elizabeth?"

"Sure, because I enjoy having my wife laugh in my face," Peter replied sarcastically. "And don't you dare tell her I said that," he added quickly. "Seriously, she did amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm not surprised," Neal said, smiling, because he knew how much this meant to his friends and what a big day it must have been for them. "I can't believe I missed it."

"There's still time. For you to be at your own son's birth, I mean."

"I don't know if I'd be brave enough if even fearless Special Agent Peter Burke freaked out about it," Neal teased.

"I didn't _freak out,"_ Peter protested.

"Yes, you did."

"Okay, I did. But it's still worth every minute of it," Peter assured him.

Neal looked at him skeptically. "Okay, but the diaper changing? That's got to be gross."

"I can't tell you that. Or you won't ever babysit."

"You'd let me babysit?" Neal asked, his face brightening.

Peter frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I just figured all your babysitters need to pass a thorough FBI background check." It sounded like a joke, but knowing Peter, it actually wasn't.

"They do," he confirmed without batting an eye. "But we're currently making exceptions in certain cases."

"What kind of cases?"

"Friends and family," Peter said, a soft smile on his lips.

And Neal grinned.

* * *

After finally landing at JFK, they split ways for the night. Sara, who had spent the rest of the flight in Peter's seat since Mozzie had already been passed out in hers, took a cab to go and check into a hotel. Elizabeth told her that she didn't have to do that, but she wanted to keep up appearances for Sterling Bosch. Officially, she was here on business after all. Neal didn't get the chance to talk to her again.

Mozzie took off as well to check on 'the state of his affairs' in New York, as he put it. Whatever that meant. And so Neal was the only one who went home with the Burkes. He would have loved to go back to June's, but technically, he was still dead. June would have kept his secret – he was sure of that – but it was safer not to get her or anyone else involved. Of course, Peter would loop in Jones and Diana, and Neal was slightly terrified of the verbal (or maybe physical) beatdown he would receive from the latter.

The Burkes' house hadn't changed much, except for the baby equipment, and that was surprisingly comforting. As soon as they had made it through the door, Elizabeth asked Peter to go and pick up Satchmo. It was early in the evening here in New York, but they were still on Central European Time, and Peter looked too tired to get behind the wheel. But he also looked too scared to say no to his wife right now. Neal would have volunteered, but he had no idea where Satchmo was, and also, he was still dead. This was going to get on his nerves. So, Peter left to collect the missing member of the Burke family.

In the meantime, Elizabeth fed a bottle to the youngest Burke, and then she made up a bed for Neal in the surprisingly spacious guest room on the third floor.

"It's not as nice as it would have been at June's, I'm afraid," she said when she was done.

Neal had been in this house a gazillion times, but he had rarely stayed the night. He certainly had never had a room before, having simply crashed or passed out on the couch occasionally. It felt a little strange but not necessarily in a bad way. "It's perfect," he assured Elizabeth.

"Good, and let me know what you need for the painting. I can get you everything tomorrow."

"Oh, no need. I can go and get that."

"Can you? I thought you weren't supposed to go out and risk getting seen – for now." Elizabeth gave him an apologetic smile, as if this was in any way her fault.

Neal sighed. This was New York City. The odds of someone seeing him who wasn't supposed to were one in eight million. But it was still an unnecessary risk. "Right. Well, Moz can get it then. It's best if he has something to do other than bringing the wine."

"All right then. Good night, Neal," Elizabeth said and kissed him on the cheek. When she caught the surprised look on his face upon stepping back, she chuckled. "Sorry, force of habit. Don't worry. You can choose your own bedtime. And just holler if you need anything else. I'm used to being woken up by someone named Neal." She winked at him before turning to leave.

And Neal thought that going to bed whenever he pleased wasn't nearly as nice as having someone to say good night to.

"Elizabeth," he said to stop her in the doorway. "Don't be too hard on Peter. I know you don't like his decision. But I have never known anyone to be more in love with someone else than he is with you."

Elizabeth didn't respond, but the smile on her face was enough.

Later that night, it felt like Neal had only just drifted off to sleep when the sound of a crying baby woke him up again. That was certainly a new one for him. But it didn't take long until Peter's muffled voice drifted up the stairs and then the crying stopped. Neal shifted onto his other side and closed his eyes.

He couldn't say for how long, but it was definitely still the middle of the night when the crying started up again. He had been told that baby Neal was actually a good sleeper. But perhaps the long flight had messed with his usual rhythm. This time, it was Elizabeth who Neal could hear talking to her son in a soothing voice to lull him back to sleep.

Unfortunately, that didn't work for adult Neal. After having been woken up twice, he was now lying awake. He didn't know whether it was the jetlag or the new bed, but eventually he decided to get up and get something to drink. When he had made it down the stairs to the second landing, he was stopped in the hallway by Satchmo. The Lab was still so excited to have everyone back, he insisted on being cuddled every time someone tried to walk past him. Neal quickly dropped to his knees so the dog wouldn't start barking and wake everybody up – least of all the baby.

With a happy Satchmo right on his heels, Neal made it to the kitchen. Sipping a glass of water, he leaned against the counter and studied the refrigerator door that chronicled the young life of Peter and Elizabeth's son – from his first sonogram to the little wristband he must have worn at the hospital. It said Neal Burke. Seeing it, right there, in black and white, still brought a smile to Neal's lips.

The same, apparently, could not be said for his namesake. Even though Neal had bribed Satchmo with a treat and was making his way back up the stairs as quietly as he possibly could, the baby began to cry once again. Neal paused outside the nursery and glanced towards Peter and Elizabeth's bedroom. When neither of them emerged – perhaps they were still arguing whose turn it was now – Neal entered the room.

"Hey there, little man," he said when he bent over the crib to pick up the baby. "This isn't the right time for you to be awake, is it? Anyone who's out and about at this time of night is up to no good. Trust me on that. And let me tell you, you do not want to get into that kind of trouble with your dad breathing down your neck. You can trust me on that, too."

Neal had walked around the room, but then he spotted the very comfortable looking beanbag chair in the corner. He held up the baby to look him in the eye. "Also, if you need your diaper changed, I'm handing you off to your parents." Baby Neal had quieted down a little and simply stared back at him. "No? Okay, good," Neal said, sitting down, with the baby resting on his chest.

Finally, a bleary-eyed Peter made his way into the room but stopped when he spotted the two Neals. "You okay there?" he asked.

"No complains yet. I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, though," Neal admitted.

Peter smirked. "I didn't think that sentence was even in your vocabulary."

"I didn't think babies were in my repertoire either. He just kind of called out to me. You know, from one Neal to another," Neal replied with a grin.

"Don't you give him any funny ideas!" Peter warned.

Neal's grin widened. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Yes, you would."

"Okay, I would. And you love that about me, or you wouldn't have named your son after me."

"I'm going back to bed," Peter muttered and shuffled back out.

Neal looked at the other Neal. "He's just tired. Don't take it personally."

The baby seemed entirely unconcerned, and so Neal leaned back to make himself comfortable, just until the little man would fall asleep again.

The next time Neal regained consciousness it was by way of Elizabeth's gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sorry to wake you, but I thought you might want to get back to an actual bed," she said.

Neal blinked, trying to get his bearings. Apparently, the baby wasn't the only one who had fallen asleep. He was still sitting in the beanbag chair. By now, early morning light was pouring in through the blinds. The baby was awake, too, only he wasn't crying anymore but quietly babbling words only he could understand.

"What time is it?" Neal asked.

"It's 7.30. Peter wants to get back to the office today. So I was going to get Neal ready and make some breakfast. But you can go back upstairs and get a little more sleep if you want," Elizabeth offered and lifted the baby off his chest.

"Doesn't Peter want me to come with him?" Neal asked purely out of habit and before he realized what a dumb question that was. "No, of course, he doesn't." Because no one at the office was supposed to know about him yet.

Elizabeth gave him a sympathetic smile before carrying the baby over to the changing table. Neal went back to his room, but he didn't feel like sleeping while everyone else was already up. So eventually, he joined the rest of the Burkes for breakfast.

"Sorry, Neal, we don't actually have a lot of food in the house. But there's fresh coffee and cereal," Elizabeth told him.

Neal poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. "Looks like somebody's enjoying that," he said drily because Peter was just digging into his second bowl.

"Yes, a little too much," Elizabeth agreed.

Peter looked from one to the other. "Uh-uh, you two don't get to mock my Cap'n Crunch."

"Nobody was mocking the cereal," Neal clarified.

"We can't all be dining on French pastries every day."

"Clearly."

"Just shut up and drink your coffee!"

"Be nice, you two," Elizabeth interjected. "I don't want Neal to start talking like that."

Peter looked at his son, who was currently sitting in his high chair and pondering if he wanted another spoonful of whatever mashed fruits and vegetables his mother had prepared for him. Apparently, all the fresh food that had been in the house was reserved for the baby. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?"

"Maybe. But you never know. What was your first word, Neal?" Elizabeth asked, looking up from her son.

Neal shrugged. "I wouldn't know." And he couldn't ask either. Because if he did manage to talk to James, they had more important and less pleasant things to talk about. When he saw the instant regret for asking that question on Elizabeth's face, he added quickly, "But I don't think you have to worry about this little man's first word being anything other than 'mama.'"

Elizabeth laughed and sent a rather triumphant look Peter's way.

"What did I say?" Neal asked when he saw that.

"Nothing. It's just we have a bit of a bet going regarding Neal's first word," Elizabeth explained.

"Really? Is an FBI agent even allowed to gamble like that? Peter, I'm surprised," Neal teased him. "Also, I hope you didn't bet too much because I'm pretty sure you're going to lose that one."

"Yeah, I know. But that's okay," Peter said, smiling at his wife.

To Neal's relief, Elizabeth smiled back at him. He didn't know if the two of them had talked about the elephant in the room again, but at least they weren't _not_ talking.

"So, what did you guys bet? What will the winner get?" Neal wanted to know. "Oh God, please don't tell me it's something unsuitable for children." With these two, one never knew.

Peter shot him a warning look anyway. "We didn't specify."

"It's winner's choice," Elizabeth explained.

"Oh, carte blanche. That's very brave of you," Neal said, eyeing Peter's unhealthy breakfast. "You better enjoy that Cap'n Crunch while you still can."

Peter shook his head at him. "Don't give her any ideas," he said, though.

"So, basically, I can't talk to your son or your wife? Can I talk to Satchmo at least?"

"Knock yourself out. I have to go now," Peter said, getting up from the table and putting on his jacket. "I'll call if there's any news on James."

He kissed his wife and his son goodbye and then bent down to cuddle Satchmo. When he straightened up again, Neal flashed him a smile.

"I'm not kissing you," Peter said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You better not. And you better not leave this house!"

"I seem to recall a time when you didn't want me _in_ your house," Neal reminded him.

"I seem to recall that you didn't listen to me then either," Peter countered.

"Times change."

"Yes, they do."

They both smirked at the memory, and then Peter turned to go. When he had left and Neal looked back at Elizabeth, her eyes glistened.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Of course," she nodded. "It's just nice to have you here with us again."

Before Neal could respond to that, she turned her attention back towards her son. "Oh, sweetheart, if you keep eating this slowly, we'll still be sitting here when Daddy comes back from work," she sighed.

"I can feed him," Neal offered.

"Would you?"

"Sure. You heard Peter. I'm not to leave this house, so I happen to have lots of time on my hands."

Elizabeth handed him the spoon and watched the two of them for a while as if to make sure that Neal was doing it right. Was there a wrong way to feed mashed fruit to a child?

Eventually, she got up and went upstairs. But the two Neals weren't alone for long because Mozzie waltzed right in through the backdoor as if no time had passed at all. Of course, for him, it really hadn't been that long since he had last been in the Burkes' house.

"Morning, Neal. And Neal," he greeted them.

"Hey, Moz," Neal answered for the both of them because baby Neal currently had his mouth full.

"I grabbed everything I could find, but we might have to get creative later," Mozzie said, dropping a couple of bags filled with canvas and color samples.

"I need to finish up here first," Neal told him. Elizabeth hadn't said, but he assumed that he was supposed to feed the entire bowl to the baby.

"Of course. Don't let me interrupt. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Mozzie said and pulled up a chair.

Elizabeth came back downstairs, looking sharp. "Oh, hello, Mozzie."

"Hey, El. Nice dress. Going out?"

"I thought I would go to the office, too. Burke Premiere Events has a big client to prepare for, right?" she said, walking over to them. "Which will be a lot easier if I show up at the office on my own. Babies are such attention hogs." She chuckled and lovingly caressed her son's thin hair. "Would you be okay with watching him and Satch?"

Neal looked at the other Neal. "I think we'll manage."

"Good. Call me if you need anything." Elizabeth grabbed her bag, pressed a kiss to her son's cheek, and petted Satchmo's head. "Have fun, boys!" she called, heading for the door.

Mozzie raised his eyebrows at him.

"What?" Neal asked.

Mozzie shrugged. "I leave you alone with them for one night and they have already housetrained you."


	12. Risk and Reward

Forging a painting that no one had seen in over fifty years was both the easiest and hardest task Neal had faced in a while. He had taken over the entire third floor of the Burkes' house and turned it into a painting studio – with all the supplies Mozzie had gathered and copies of the other two paintings from the 'Ships in the Night' series propped up next to Neal's easel so he could study Girardot's technique.

This was far from his first forgery. In fact, painting 'Liberty Leading the People' had been an even more ambitious undertaking due to its sheer size alone. Still, it felt different. This wasn't just another case or another big score. This was about all of their lives and what those would look like from now on. And they only had this one plan. So Neal had to get it right.

No pressure, then.

Everyone else was doing their part. Returning from maternity leave, Elizabeth hadn't missed a beat. She had found the perfect venue for them – a warehouse above an old subway station that had been completely renovated and turned into an exclusive event space. Elizabeth knew the owners and had managed to book it on short notice. She and her team at Burke Premiere Events had also generated lots of buzz, and they were expertly fielding and dodging questions regarding the sudden discovery of the Girardot painting and the mysterious identity of its owner. Sara had already lined up an authenticator, and Peter had assembled a small team of trusted agents. All they needed now was the painting.

Well, that, and they needed James to be as intrigued as the rest of the New York art scene. Which he would be as long as Neal could make this painting look like the real deal. Of course, that wasn't the only thing this painting needed to accomplish.

"Is that it?" Neal asked when Mozzie came to stand next to him.

"Yup, with this we should be able to track the painting anywhere in the state of New York," Mozzie replied, opening his palm to reveal the tiniest GPS tracking device Neal had ever seen. Attaching it to the canvas and painting over it with a thick layer of paint would be the easy part in all of this. "Officially approved by the Suit," Mozzie added. He had just come from the FBI, and he wasn't even complaining about that. More proof of how important this was to all of them.

"How did you convince Peter to let it out of his sight?" Neal wondered.

"I had El FaceTime him from mommy and me class. Apparently, the little man is learning to crawl now."

"He is? I hope someone made a video!" Neal said. Then he realized that he was falling for the same distraction Mozzie and Elizabeth had just used on Peter. "Nicely done," he acknowledged.

Mozzie smirked. "Thanks, but baby you deserves most of the credit. Waiting until this very moment to develop his motor skills was excellent timing."

"So, did you do it then?" Neal asked, his smile fading. He hated to sneak around like this. It felt like they were making the same mistakes all over again. Only this time, he was doing it while he was living under Peter's very own roof.

"I did. I reprogrammed the tracker so that we will still get the signal, but we can jam it so it won't get through to the FBI," Mozzie nodded gravely. "You do know the Suit will kill you for this when he finds out."

"Not if James beats him to it," Neal deadpanned.

Mozzie shook his head. "Not funny, Neal."

"We've been over this, Moz. I need to talk to James before Peter shows up to arrest him. And I have to do it alone. That's the only way I can – maybe – get him to listen to me."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then Peter arrests him, and we will have to undo what we did in the first place," Neal said.

Mozzie's eyebrows shot up. "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"If you're thinking that I'm thinking about breaking into the FBI to steal the fake confession we made, then yes."

"That's suicide!" Mozzie said dramatically.

"We did it before," Neal reminded him.

"With time to prepare, and you were actually allowed to set foot inside the FBI building!"

"Once we have James, I won't have to hide anymore, and I know how to do it now." In truth, Neal wasn't so sure, but he was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

Mozzie frowned, trying to think this through. "If we steal the confession, they won't be able to convict James for Pratt's murder. It's the only evidence they have against him."

"And without it, James can't prove that it was forged, which means they don't have cause to reopen the murder trial against Peter either," Neal finished that thought.

"They would have to let them all go free," Mozzie realized.

"For the murder. They'll still have James on the art theft and everything else they can prove he did," Neal corrected. "It's good enough."

"I don't think the Suit will see it that way," Mozzie warned.

Neal sighed. "He can hate me if he wants to, but at least his wife and child won't have to visit him in prison." It was worth it. It had to be.

Mozzie looked at him curiously. "What happened to doing things differently this time around?"

"You know I don't want to do this, Moz, but I don't have a choice," Neal said with a helpless shrug.

It's not as if he wanted to lie and break the law, not necessarily, anyway. But if the law let a guy like Peter go to prison, then the law was wrong. And Neal would always be okay with crossing lines if it meant saving the people he loved.

"Story of my life, right?" Neal smiled humorlessly.

Mozzie reached for his hand to give him the GPS tracker, and he held on to both Neal's hand and the tracker for a moment. "Peter will understand what you did for him, Neal."

Neal closed his fingers around the small device without saying anything.

Because he was not so sure.

* * *

When Peter came home to find Neal and Mozzie in his kitchen, making dinner, as if this was their house too, he needed a moment to get used to that visual. Of course, Neal really did live with them because he had nowhere else to go, and to come and go as he pleased had been Mozzie's MO since Peter had first met him. As long as he didn't have to eat fish for the third time this week, Peter was actually okay with that.

"What's for dinner?" he asked after he had stopped to pet Satchmo.

"No need to panic. It's just pasta," Neal replied. He was the one who was actually doing the cooking. Mozzie was sitting at the kitchen island, drinking wine. Naturally.

"I wasn't panicking," Peter said, stepping closer to check out the sauce Neal was making. It smelled like it had salmon in it. "I never panic."

Neal smirked. "I saw the look on your face when Elizabeth made that broccoli quiche the other day."

"Oh, that quiche was excellent!" Mozzie chimed in.

"It really was," Neal nodded.

Peter heaved a sigh. He had already accepted that he was outnumbered when it came to this sort of thing. But not for long. Hopefully, his son would grow up to be a normal kid who loved burgers and mac 'n' cheese. On their way home from the batting cages, they would stop at a diner and order fries and milkshakes – and then Peter would find a way to confess it all to El later. But he was getting ahead of himself. The baby couldn't back him up just yet, and until then it wasn't wise to speak ill of El's quiches.

"I never said it wasn't," Peter said quickly.

"Feeding half of it to Satchmo did," Neal teased him.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to make sure that his wife hadn't heard that. "Where is El?" he asked.

Neal looked up from his pots and pans. "Isn't she with you?"

"No. I just came straight from the office."

"She told us she would surprise you by swinging by your office after Neal's playgroup," Mozzie explained.

The three men exchanged a long look.

"Okay, remember what you just said. Don't panic," Neal was the first to speak.

Peter ignored him and whipped out his phone to call El. It rang for what felt like an eternity before eventually going to voicemail. He called the playgroup next, but everyone had already left.

"She could be stuck in traffic," Mozzie suggested.

"Or she's busy with the baby and can't answer the phone," Neal added.

Both of those things were possible. And there were a million other explanations. But Peter didn't believe in any of them. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly the smell of the fresh pasta made him sick. It reminded him of the time El had been taken. All that had been left of his wife then had been the spilled tomato sauce in the kitchen.

Knowing full well that he could be overreacting, and not caring in the least, Peter called Jones. He was back at work and eager to catch up on everything he had missed during his recovery. "Jones, I need you to ping Elizabeth's phone."

Jones didn't waste time asking questions. _"On it,"_ was the only thing he said before Peter could hear him type away in the background. It didn't take him long to find the address. _"Do you want me to meet you there?"_ he asked.

"No, that's all right. Thanks, Jones." Peter hung up, and both Neal and Mozzie looked at him expectantly. "She's at the warehouse," he told them. Or at least, her phone was.

"See. She probably just decided to check on something," Neal said.

"The wine delivery!" Mozzie remembered. "They delivered the wine and the champagne today to stock the bar. Yvonne was supposed to take care of it, but maybe El wanted to see it for herself. She wouldn't risk serving the wrong wine." He raised his own glass as if that proved anything.

Peter only nodded distractedly. It did sound like a reasonable explanation. But being late for dinner and not answering her phone wasn't like her. After all, that used to be his part. And he had never fully realized how frustrating it was. Once again, Peter needed all of one second to decide what to do. "I'm heading over there."

"Then I'm coming with you," Neal said, turning off the stove.

"Me too," Mozzie decided, jumping to his feet.

Peter should have reminded Neal that he couldn't leave the house, but he was too stressed to argue.

Satchmo barked.

"No, buddy, you're staying here." He had to draw the line somewhere.

They got in the car, but no one said anything while Peter tried to navigate through rush-hour traffic and cursed every time he had to hit the brakes. He kept calling El's phone. Every time he didn't get an answer, he floored the accelerator a little more. He caught the look Neal was giving him from the passenger seat.

"Don't say it, Neal!" he growled.

"Say what?"

"That she's fine."

"But I'm sure she is," Neal replied.

Peter honked at the taxi in front of them. "Then what's with the face?"

"I just don't want to end up in Elizabeth's doghouse when she finds out that we raced across town like maniacs to find her looking at wine."

A faint smile tugged at Peter's lips and he slowed down a little.

Still, he double-parked outside the warehouse and they quickly made their way towards the entrance. They hadn't quite reached the door yet when they heard it. The high-pitched wails of a crying baby coming from inside.

Peter felt as if his heart was going to slam its way out of his rib cage in response. He burst through the door and the crying immediately got louder. The reception area was empty. Through the open door to the event hall Peter could see the wooden crates from the wine delivery. Some of them had been opened, but most of them were still stacked up and wrapped in plastic. It didn't look as if anyone else was in there. Neal's stroller stood right next to the door, with him in it. His screams were so piercing, they were like a knife to Peter's chest. He reached the stroller in the blink of an eye and lifted his son into his arms.

He tried to soothe him and check for injuries at the same time as best as he could.

Neal had been right behind him and let his eyes wander from the baby's head to his toes. "He looks okay," he said.

Peter didn't respond, still desperately trying to calm down his son. But holding him close and shushing him didn't have any effect. Neither did bouncing him or rubbing his back. Peter had learned to decode all his different cries, but he had never heard this one.

Mozzie had caught up with them, too. "Is he hurt?" he asked.

"I don't know," Peter answered through clenched teeth.

"Where's El?"

Peter couldn't answer that one either. Desperation and fear gutted him from the inside.

"She wouldn't have left the baby," Neal said.

"Then she has to be here somewhere," Mozzie replied.

"Unless he took her," Peter heard himself say. There was no need to explain whom he was talking about.

Neal shook his head. "He has no reason to take her."

"Except he told me he would. He told me he would come after my family!" Peter couldn't believe that he had been so careless. They might have been save in Paris, but they were back in New York now. Just because there had been no sightings of James since his last escape didn't mean that he wasn't watching them.

"Then why not take the baby, too?" Neal asked.

"I don't know, Neal! I don't know!" Peter yelled, making the baby scream even louder. Ridden with guilt, he pressed a kiss to his son's head.

The adult Neal looked only slightly less agitated than his namesake. "This doesn't make sense. We'll find her, Peter," he promised him.

But Peter was so sick of his empty promises. Neal had also told him that El would be fine. Not just now in the car, but when he had suggested this plan in the first place and when Peter had told him that it was too dangerous. "Every time… every goddamn time!" Peter hissed. "I don't know why I keep listening to you. You have done nothing but screw me over and ruin my life!"

Neal's eyes widened. "Peter…"

"I don't want to hear it, Neal! I don't want to hear a goddamn thing from you! I told you it was too dangerous. I told you I couldn't put my wife at risk. But you always know better. You do whatever the hell you want. Never mind if anybody gets hurt!"

"That's not fair. You know I care about Elizabeth!" Neal protested.

But Peter could barely hear him over the blood pounding in his ears. "What I know is that it would have been better for my family if you had just stayed dead."

If it hadn't been for the screaming baby, everything would have been perfectly still in that moment. Neal certainly didn't move and neither did Peter. His words had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, creating a silence that was deafening, making it impossible to say anything else.

"I found her!" Mozzie called, breaking the spell.

They followed his voice, Neal running ahead of Peter, who was still holding the baby to his chest. They found Mozzie in the offices in the back, kneeling on the floor.

Peter stopped dead, relief and terror slamming into him in equal measure. El had not been taken, but she was lying on the ground unconscious, a thin stream of blood trickling down her forehead.

As Peter sank to his knees next to her, he was capable of only one thought. "No. Please, no."

"She's alive," Mozzie said urgently. He had a hand on her pulse, and Peter could at least breathe again.

Still, the only way for him to keep it together was to let the investigator in him take over and scan the rest of the room. The desk was in disarray, clearly having been searched, but there was a round, empty space without even a speck of dust where something had gone missing. Most likely, the improvised weapon El had been hit with. In the wall behind the desk a safe had been broken open and cleaned out. Right next to it, someone had dropped a hat with the same logo on it that Peter had seen on the plastic wrapped around the freshly delivered crates. As far as crime scenes went, this one spoke volumes.

"Call 911," he said.

* * *

At the hospital, Peter was faced with Sophie's choice. His wife was admitted to the emergency room, but the doctors wanted to take his son up to the Pediatric Unit to check him out as well – and Peter could only go with one of them.

"We'll stay with El," Mozzie said, recognizing his dilemma and making the choice for him. "She did this for me once, so you have my word that she'll be taken care of."

More importantly, Peter knew that El would want him to stay with the baby. He nodded his thanks to Mozzie and let the doctors usher him into the elevator. Peter couldn't believe that this was his son's second trip to the hospital this month.

Thankfully, the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with him.

"Your son is perfectly healthy," the doctor on call assured Peter. "He probably just worked himself into a bit of a frenzy when no one responded to his crying, which I'm guessing he's not used to."

Peter nodded in relief. He and El didn't believe in letting babies 'cry it out.' Which was why he had known that something was wrong the second they had arrived at the warehouse and he had heard his son cry like that. Now that the nurses gave him some formula and a fresh diaper, Neal finally calmed down. Once he had been fed and changed, his exhaustion caught up with him, too.

With his son falling asleep, Peter could breathe a little easier. Watching Neal, he realized, however, that if anything happened to El, he would be solely responsible for his son's life. He would have to ensure that something like this never happened again and he would have to make up for losing El, for losing a mother's love. Except, he had no idea how to get through even a day without her. It was impossible and too frightening to think about. So he wouldn't. But he wondered briefly if this was exactly how El felt at the prospect of him going to jail.

His arms were getting heavy from carrying Neal for what felt like hours. But Peter didn't trust anyone right now, not even to watch over his son while he was sleeping. So he carried him back down to the emergency room. He was fairly certain that Neal was so exhausted, a bomb could have gone off right next to him and it wouldn't have woken him up. The hustle and bustle of the emergency room was nothing in comparison.

Before Peter could stop one of the busy looking doctors and nurses, he ran into Mozzie. He didn't even have to say anything.

"She's just around the corner," Mozzie told him and held out his hands, offering to take the baby for a moment.

Peter had only just decided that he wasn't going to trust anyone else with his son. But the smile on Mozzie's face reminded him that he wasn't the only one who loved El. They were no longer alone in this.

He gently transferred the baby from his arms to Mozzie's and quickly turned the corner Mozzie had pointed out to him. He found El not only awake but alert and sitting upright on the edge of a hospital bed. She saw him, too, and, whether she was supposed to do that or not, she slid off the bed.

Peter caught her as she flung herself at him. His gaze swept over her face that had been cleaned of the blood, and his hands traced the lines of her arms as if to reassure himself that she was really there. He released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and his lips still trembled slightly when he pressed them to hers. El rested her head on his shoulder, and they took a moment to let the world right itself in each other's arms.

Then El pushed away a little. "How's Neal? Is he okay?"

Peter cupped her face in his hands. "He's fine, honey. He's right here," he added because he could feel Mozzie approaching from behind.

"Sleeping like a baby," Mozzie said as El rushed over to him to look at their son.

"Honey, should you really be up on your feet already?" Peter worried.

"I'm okay, hon," she waved him off, but the movement seemed to make her dizzy, which made her answer somewhat less believable.

"Well, that isn't exactly what the doctor said."

Peter's head whipped back around, noticing Neal for the first time. He was wearing a black bomber jacket, a Yankees cap, and Mozzie's glasses. Perhaps it worked as a disguise if you didn't know Neal, but if you did, it made him stand out even more than in his usual designer suits.

"Nice hat," Peter said.

"It was the best we could do on such short notice," Mozzie explained in Neal's stead.

Peter nodded and led El back to the bed so she could sit down again. "So what did the doctor say?"

"I have a concussion. They ran some tests to make sure that there was no swelling or bleeding because I was unconscious for a while, but the scans came back clean. And since I can walk and talk again, there's really nothing more they can do. They'll be giving me painkillers for the headache and then we can go home," El told him. She was clearly putting on a brave face. Whether that was for his sake, for the baby, Mozzie and Neal, or simply to calm herself down, Peter couldn't say, and he wasn't going to call her on it. But he was still concerned.

"Don't forget about getting plenty of rest and coming back in if the headaches, dizziness, or nausea get worse," Mozzie chimed in.

El shot him a look that was clearly meant to make Mozzie feel bad for snitching, but Peter was grateful that someone was telling him what he needed to look out for at least. He took El's hands in his. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked. He knew that was often a problem with concussions, but the police would be waiting to talk to her.

"I do," El nodded, and Peter smiled softly. Despite his worry, he should have known how strong she was. "Yvonne called me because there had been a mix-up with another client so she couldn't be at the warehouse for the wine delivery. Neal's playgroup had ended a little early so I told her I would head over there. The delivery guy showed up on time, but he took forever to unload those crates. Neal was getting fussy, and I wanted to take him outside in the stroller while we were waiting. But I had left my keys in the office. So I went back to get them and when I walked in, the guy was there snooping around the desk. Before I could do anything, he grabbed the desk lamp and… that's all I remember."

Peter tried very hard to control the cold fury that ran through his veins when he imagined the scene that had followed and that El had mercifully blocked out. "Can you describe him, hon?" The NYPD could simply contact the delivery company and get his name from them. But since Peter wasn't officially running an FBI operation in the warehouse, he couldn't get involved in their investigation, to say nothing of taking over. Nevertheless, he wanted to know what this guy looked like.

To his surprise, El looked at Neal, and he wordlessly handed Peter a sketch that he must have done earlier. Apparently, he had already asked El the same thing.

"I heard he broke into the safe," El said while Peter studied Neal's flawless drawing. Unfortunately, he had never seen this man before. "So was it the money he was after?"

"No, it wasn't. He just wants you to think that," Neal replied.

Peter looked up from the sketch. "You think he was casing the place for James?"

Neal gave a curt nod. "Delivering the wine was a perfect cover. Elizabeth just surprised him when he was searching the office, probably looking for building schematics or something like that. He must have panicked after he attacked her, and he broke into the safe to make it look like a crime of opportunity."

"But that means our plan is working! James is going to steal the painting," El realized, her face lighting up despite her condition.

"If he doesn't get spooked by what happened today, yes. In that way, at least, this was a good thing. Now we know he took the bait," Neal said.

"Good. I like my trips to the hospital to not be a complete waste of time," El joked humorlessly. "I'll call Yvonne and let her know that we're still on schedule."

"I think you should also tell her to take over from now on," Peter said.

"What? No. She has no idea what's really going on," El protested.

Peter sighed. "We haven't even gotten to the actual event yet and you're already in the hospital, El. I won't risk this happening a second time."

"We could hire additional security," Mozzie suggested. "That would be an appropriate reaction after a robbery. No reason for James to get suspicious. Actually, he would probably be suspicious if you didn't do anything."

"See, I'll be safe," El said.

"Honey, I don't think you understand…" Peter was looking for a way to tell her that the thought of potentially losing her had slowly suffocated him these past few hours, but she cut him off.

"Oh, I understand. I understand that we have this one chance to get our life back. And we all have to take risks that we don't like. But we've been through too much to turn back now. I'm okay with taking one more risk if we do it together."

Peter looked from his wife to Neal. But Neal's eyes were on Elizabeth as well.

"It's a good plan. We will make it work," he said, and for a brief moment Peter wondered if they were talking about the same plan.

"James is going to wish he had never left Montana," Mozzie agreed fiercely, which was a little disturbing while he was still holding the baby.

Peter knew he wasn't going to feel good about this until it was all over, but at least El was no longer upset with him. They were both in this, risks and all, for the future of their family. "God, I love you," he said and kissed her. And he couldn't have cared less that they weren't alone.

Someone cleared their throat behind them. It was one of El's doctors. Peter was glad to see him. But he also noticed that while Mozzie had turned his back on them, busying himself with bouncing the baby in his arms, Neal had walked off. As much as Peter wanted to hear what the doctor had to say, he knew he needed to own up to the rest of the mistakes he had made today.

"I'll be right back, hon," he told El, and then he went after Neal. He had already left the emergency room and was heading for the cabs waiting outside. "Neal," Peter called when he caught up with him.

Neal turned around, but the tension in his jaw made it clear that he didn't really want to.

"About earlier…" Peter began.

"It's fine, Peter," Neal brushed him off.

"No, it's not fine…" Peter said, shaking his head.

But no one wanted to let him finish his sentences today. "Everything you said is true," Neal cut him off. "Everything that's happened to you is because I needed to go looking for my father, too blind to see that I could have had one all along. But don't worry, Peter. I will find a way to fix this."

He slid into the waiting cab behind him, and before Peter could even take another step, the taxi had already sped off.

* * *

Sara had been about to hop in the shower when a knock on her hotel room door stopped her. She hesitated. She hadn't ordered room service and she wasn't really dressed for company, wearing nothing but her satin bathrobe. In the end, curiosity got the better of her, though, and she went to open the door.

"Neal?!" she said, completely surprised for several reasons. He was the last person she had expected. Also, he looked ridiculous. "What the hell are you wearing? You look like the Unabomber."

"I was trying not to get recognized. I hope that means I was successful," Neal replied.

"I would hope so, too. I thought you were supposed to stay at Peter and Elizabeth's."

"Change of plans. I know we left things up in the air – literally – but can I stay with you tonight? Moz's place smells like a pigeonry," Neal explained, though that didn't really explain anything. "Don't ask," he added.

Caught off guard, Sara tried to stall. "What happened? Don't tell me they kicked you out!"

Neal glanced up and down the hallway and with one hand on the doorframe he leaned in closer. "Will you let me in?" he asked. "Please."

Sara sighed, but it wasn't as if she really had a choice. Neal was way too exposed out there. "Of course." She stepped aside and let Neal come in and remove his silly disguise before she closed the door behind him.

When she turned around, she found him looking at her intently and realized that her bathrobe had slipped over her shoulder, exposing the naked skin around her collarbone. She quickly pulled it back up and retightened the knot to keep it closed. If she had known that she would let Neal walk in here, she would have put some goddamn clothes on!

To cover up how vulnerable her current state of undress made her feel, she went on the offensive. "So what did you do?"

"Why do you automatically assume that I did something?" Neal asked, but he looked resigned rather than angry.

"Because I can't imagine any other reason why Peter and Elizabeth would let you go."

"They didn't let me go. I walked away," Neal replied, turning towards the window and the beautiful New York skyline reflected in it.

It reminded Sara of all those magical nights they had spent on Neal's rooftop terrace at June's… "Why? Did they use you as a cheap babysitter?" she tried to joke.

"Oh, they did, but… hold on, what do you mean 'cheap'? Did they pay you to watch the baby?" Neal asked, looking at her via her reflection in the window.

Sara raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that really relevant right now?"

Neal's shoulders slumped. "No, I suppose not."

His demeanor was beginning to worry her and so Sara walked up to him. "Neal, what happened?" she asked again, standing next to him, facing the window.

"Elizabeth got hurt."

"What? Why does no one ever think to call and tell me these things?" Sara ranted before she realized that this wasn't the time to make this about herself. "Is she okay?"

"She will be. She has a concussion," Neal told her.

Sara relaxed a little. "Okay, but I don't see how that could be your fault."

"Then you're the only one," Neal said bitterly.

Sara sighed. "I don't know what happened – because no one's telling me anything – but I know that Peter and Elizabeth flew all the way across the Atlantic to find you and bring you home. So whatever you did, there's a way to fix it." She paused. "You're not hiding a stolen treasure from a psychopathic former buddy of yours again, are you?"

Neal smirked. "No."

"Okay then. They'll forgive you – if there really is something to forgive."

Neal turned to face her fully. "Will you forgive me?"

"For what?" Sara asked hesitantly.

"For not finding a way for us to work down here on Earth," Neal said, and his eyes on her were so intense, it felt like he was trying to burn away the thin layer of clothes she still had on.

Looking into that maddeningly handsome face, Sara wondered why she shouldn't just let him. She knew there were a million reasons. But she only needed one to ignore them all.

"If you ask me, gravity is overrated," she said with a smile that was just enough of an invitation.

Before she could even blink, Neal had swept her off her feet. With her back up against the wall, her legs wrapped around Neal's hips, and her fingers in his hair, Sara could no longer remember why living on a constant high like this was a bad thing. Sure, there was the risk of the inevitable crash landing, but what if _this_ was worth_ that?_

That's as far as her reasoning went before Neal made her forget about everything that wasn't touching, and exploring, and wanting. There was so much hunger, so much need in Neal's mouth on hers. No holding back in ripping away clothes and digging into her skin. His lips, his teeth, his tongue... it was as if he was trying to leave a mark. Unafraid and unapologetic.

Daring her to stop him. Maybe this wasn't healthy. It felt like they were barely even breathing anymore, their hearts beating erratically. Maybe this was the closest two human beings could come to self-destructing. Like standing on top of the Empire State Building, one tiny misstep away from falling. But Sara decided that burning bright together all the way down was better than never being brave enough to take that jump at all.

* * *

Lost in thought, Elizabeth waited for the teakettle to boil. She was looking for something to soothe her nerves – something besides Satchmo, who hadn't left her side since they had come home from the hospital, and she loved him for it. Peter was upstairs, putting Neal to bed and making some calls. The NYPD had taken her statement and they were now looking for the man who had attacked her, but Elizabeth didn't think they would find him. Getting to him would mean getting to James. By now, she was convinced that they had to take care of that themselves.

Not tonight, though. Elizabeth was pretty sure that Peter had hidden her phone somewhere after he had read up on concussions and what best not to do in the first 24 hours that followed. For now, she was fine with that. All she wanted was a fresh cup of tea.

Though she had been waiting for the water to boil, the whistle of the kettle still startled her. She turned around to get it and nearly jumped out of her skin when Peter suddenly stood right behind her. She must not have heard him come back downstairs, and her brain struggled to catch up to what her eyes were seeing. So for a second, she flashed back to that moment when the delivery guy had come at her, swinging that lamp, and Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from flinching.

"Oh God, El. I'm so sorry," Peter said, cautiously holding out his hands, not sure if touching her would make this better or worse.

Elizabeth answered that question by stepping into his arms and burying her face in his chest. "I'm okay," she said to her husband and to herself, because her silly heart wouldn't stop racing.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked as his arms went around her. "We can talk about it. Or not talk about it. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You don't even have to leave this house."

"I think that's what you want me to do," Elizabeth said and made herself step away from him again to finally get that cup of tea.

"I just want you to feel safe," Peter replied.

"You do realize that we're standing in the very kitchen where I was kidnapped once?" Elizabeth pointed out.

Peter looked more than a little frustrated. With himself. Not her. "I was hoping you had moved on from that."

"I have," Elizabeth nodded. "Today just brings back memories."

"Of course, it does." Peter gritted his teeth in anger, the way he always did when he wanted to spring into action but didn't have any viable options. Eventually, his shoulders slumped. "What can I do?" he asked.

Elizabeth leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms. "You can tell me what happened with Neal. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Peter replied unhelpfully.

"But do you think he's safe at least?" Elizabeth pressed.

Peter gave a hesitant nod. "Neal's smart."

Which wasn't really an answer. Elizabeth huffed. "You're really not going to tell me?"

"I just don't want you to get upset right now," Peter tried to explain. _Again,_ he seemed to add quietly.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "You said something to him, didn't you?"

Peter made a face.

"What did you say?"

"It's not even worth repeating," he admitted, and the rest was written all over his face.

Elizabeth sighed and reached out to run a hand up and down his arm. "I'm sorry, hon."

"Why are you sorry?" Peter asked, his brow creasing.

"Because I know how you feel. I was the one who yelled at Neal back when you were in the hospital, remember? I think the fear of losing each other can make us do crazy things. And that goes for all of us. Including Neal."

Peter's frown deepened. "Are you saying Neal could be doing something stupid right now?"

"Well, since he didn't come home, I'm hoping he's with one of the other two people here in New York who love him," Elizabeth said, and it was really hard not to call and check. It was probably a good thing that she didn't have her phone. "If that's going to make this better or worse, I don't know. But I don't think he would do anything to jeopardize the plan."

"You two seem to have talked a lot about that plan," Peter noticed.

Elizabeth shrugged. "I just told him that I don't want to lose anyone."

"Do you think Neal knows that includes him?"

"Let's hope so," Elizabeth said, and even without knowing what exactly had been said between Peter and Neal, she could tell that it weighed heavily on both of them. "Honey, you can go look for him."

Peter shook his head without hesitation, which only meant that he had already spent hours talking himself out of it. "No, I'm staying with you tonight," he said and pulled her back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm so glad you're okay, hon. I don't know what Neal and I would do without you. And I never want to find out."

He hugged her closer and Elizabeth couldn't hide how relieved she felt. It was one thing not to want to be afraid anymore, quite another to actually convince herself that there was nothing to fear. The doctors had told her that it was okay for her to go to sleep tonight. But Elizabeth knew the only way she was going to get any sleep was by feeling the beat of her own heart as well as her husband's.

* * *

In a mess of tangled limbs and rumpled sheets, Sara tried to catch her breath again and cool off enough to allow for a clear thought.

"How come every time we try to work together, we always end up in bed together?" she wondered. "It's really not very professional of us."

"I promise not to turn you in to HR," Neal replied, nuzzling her neck.

Sara laughed, more because of the fresh tingles when he started nibbling on her ear than his joke. "What _are_ you planning to do, though?"

"I thought I just showed you, but... I can give you another in-depth demonstration if you like." Neal grinned, and Sara had to push away from him. Just a little. So she could concentrate.

"That's not what I meant. I meant... are you planning to stay here in New York and come back to life when this is all over or are you just going to stay dead?" She frowned because that was a very strange sentence.

Neal was sprawled out on his back. And he wasn't shy about being completely exposed. Not that he had anything to be self-conscious about. She had just explored almost every inch of that body, and still Sara couldn't take her eyes off his well-toned chest, the lean muscles in his legs, and other parts of him that were equally impressive. So much for her concentration.

"I could ask you the same thing. Last time I checked your address was no longer on the isle of Manhattan," he pointed out.

"Right," Sara said distractedly, sliding a hand down his chest. "Well, at least we know that we're very good at saying goodbye."

"Or..." Neal caught her hand and started planting kisses all the way up her arm. "... very bad."

Sara closed her eyes, sighing happily, when Neal shifted on top of her in order to follow his trail of kisses. But her brain wasn't so easily shut off. "Where else would you want to go, though? I mean, if you were to leave New York?" she asked.

"You're talking through some of my best work here," Neal answered, his lips hovering in the valley between her breasts.

Sara hummed with pleasure, but she said, "You're currently living in a house where everyone loves one another, including the dog. You realize how rare that is?"

"Actually, I think half the people on this planet love dogs."

"Neal!" Sara protested, and that had nothing to do with what his tongue was doing to her bellybutton.

Finally, Neal stopped and lifted his head. "Yes. Of course, I do. What do you think I've been chasing all these years?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sara asked. "I thought you were chasing the next big score or something like that."

"I was. Because I was looking for Kate and the life I thought we could have together." Neal rolled off of her again.

Sara propped herself up on her elbow. "And then Kate died," she realized.

Neal nodded, not saying anything for a while. "And then the FBI started working with Sterling Bosch," he said eventually, and though nothing about those words was especially romantic, the look in his eyes made her shiver. Even being mentioned in the same breath as Kate was unexpected.

She wasn't just an ex-girlfriend. She was an ex-girlfriend who had died while Neal had still been dreaming of a future for them. It wasn't as if Sara could just tell him to stop carrying a torch for her. Then again, maybe he already had. Because right now, he wasn't looking at Kate with a burning desire that seemed insatiable tonight.

"Do you think if I hadn't hidden the treasure from you...?" Neal wondered. If things could have been different. If they could have made it.

"I don't know," Sara answered him honestly. Even before she had found that laptop, she had begun to wonder if she wasn't conning herself, falling in love with a conman.

"You know that house? In Westchester?" Neal asked.

Sara chuckled. "You mean the imaginary one with the baton wielding con children?" The one she had completely made up. But it was real enough that she hadn't forgotten about it.

Neal bobbed his head. "That would have been worth more than any treasure."

"Doesn't really sound like you, though," Sara said because his earnestness surprised her, and it made her treacherous heart speed up.

"Funny how everyone seems to know who I am when I don't," Neal replied, and he was probably more open and unguarded than he had ever been – and not because of his nakedness either.

Sara looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, you don't have an anklet anymore," she said, rubbing his ankle with the sole of her foot. "Which, by the way, makes this a lot more fun." Not that it hadn't been fun before, but she had been left with quite a few chafes.

Neal smirked, but he said, "Still feels like I do."

"You mean because of James?" Sara guessed. "He'll be in jail soon enough."

"Or not."

"You're not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?" She just had to ask.

Neal shrugged. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On what he's going to do," Neal replied simply. "I'm not letting him hurt the Burkes again."

"But you shouldn't let him hurt you either," Sara said softly.

Neal flashed her a smile. "Would you miss me? A second time, I mean."

Sara decided that now was the time to stop playing coy. "You know I would. I can't tell you who you are, Neal, but I can tell you that a world without Neal Caffrey in it is a sadder place. Maybe a safer one for all the Raphaels out there, but also a lot less exciting."

Neal reached out to cup her cheek, and he just looked at her, all of her, her eyes, her face, her most private parts, and even though those were no longer private, not to him, not for quite some time now, Sara felt herself blush. There was something so intimate about his gaze, as if he was trying to commit her to memory or maybe paint her without actually using pen and paper.

And then all he said was, "Good."

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean 'good'? Neal, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want to spend the rest of this night talking," he replied, and before she knew it, his mouth was on hers again.

Heat shot through Sara's body so hot and fast that she surrendered instantly. There wasn't enough oxygen left to supply her brain anyway, and with the way Neal made her feel, she didn't really need any. And so she let him kiss her into oblivion.

* * *

**A/N: Things are about to get interesting, so I hope you'll stay tuned, and – as always – thanks to all of you for your support for this story!**


	13. Sins of the Father

**A/N: It took me a little longer to finish this chapter, but it's a big one, if not _the_ big one. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

The warehouse was filling up with guests. They were trickling in slowly because of the new security guards out front. When she had hired them, Elizabeth had been worried that they would scare James off. But then Peter had reminded her that James was not about to waltz in through the front door anyway.

Still, she couldn't stop looking for him. She knew that wasn't her job. She was supposed to make sure that the guests were enjoying the hors d'oeuvre and that the bar was fully stocked, and she should have been answering questions about the art. Neal and Mozzie had provided them with an impressive collection with the Girardot painting front and center.

It really was a masterpiece. Neal had outdone himself. Elizabeth knew it was a forgery, but she was in awe of it just the same. It actually made her a little sad that it wasn't real. She was absolutely convinced that no one here would notice. After all, the painting was officially authenticated and insured by Sterling Bosch. Thanks to Sara, who, unfortunately, wasn't here to see it in person. She had wanted to, but there was no point in putting anyone else at risk.

Elizabeth would have appreciated the company, but she wasn't scared. Not exactly. She knew what she was doing. She was good at this. At least, as far as the event itself was concerned. They had decided to have a silent auction, so the guests were now milling about, talking or inspecting the art on display, and waiting to add their names and their bids to the bid sheets. Everything was perfectly normal and civilized, and it was simply bizarre to wait for it to go sideways.

Whenever her nerves flared up, Elizabeth thought of Peter. He was standing by, not outside in the van, of course, but at the FBI. From there, he was monitoring the painting and the feed from the security cameras. Elizabeth knew that he still didn't like the distance he and his team had to maintain until it was time for them to step in. So she brought a finger to her lips and smiled, glancing at the nearest camera, only for a second. She knew Peter would see and know that she was okay.

Yvonne walked up to her. "There's somebody in the office who wants to talk to you," she said.

"In the office?" Elizabeth repeated, unpleasantly surprised. She was okay now, but she didn't like to go back into that room. Not just yet. Not if she could help it. And at the moment, no one should have been back there, which made her immediately suspicious. "Who?"

"I don't know. Should I go and get his name?" Yvonne asked hesitantly when she saw the look on Elizabeth's face.

"No!" Elizabeth said a little too quickly. "I'll go. You keep an eye on things here. Thank you, Yvonne." She did her best to sound normal again, but her heart was beating way too fast. She knew she was probably overreacting. It didn't make sense for James to have made it into the building and then ask for her by name. But she simply had no idea what that man would do. She wanted to look up at the camera again, but she knew she couldn't let Peter see the fear in her eyes right now.

Turning away from the cameras, Elizabeth made her way into the back. As expected, there was no one there, and the office was empty, too, when she entered it. All the evidence of the police investigation had been removed, of course, and the mess had been cleaned up as well. Still, Elizabeth kept staring at the spot where she had glimpsed her attacker before he had knocked her out.

She barely stifled a scream when somebody suddenly closed the door behind her.

"Neal!" she breathed in relief when she turned around and saw who it was.

He held up both hands in apology. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"What are you doing? You know no one can see you yet, least of all James."

Neal wasn't even wearing a disguise. Quite the opposite, actually. He was impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored, dark three-piece suit that made him look so young and handsome – Elizabeth's heart ached at the thought that anything could happen to him, or that suit. Then again, with James it probably wouldn't matter what Neal was wearing. He would recognize him regardless.

"He won't," Neal said with that ease and confidence that always made her want to believe him. "I just wanted to see how you are doing."

"I'm fine," Elizabeth replied, trying to ignore her jumpiness. "So far, everything is going great. This would have been a huge success for Burke Premiere Events if... you know... any of it was real."

"Everything you've done with this place is real."

Elizabeth snorted. "No one's here for the cocktail shrimp, Neal. They are here for the fake painting."

"I'm sorry Burke Premiere Events will be in hot water after this," Neal said.

"That's all right. We survived the Fowler fiasco. We'll survive this, too," Elizabeth assured him.

Neal still looked a little guilty. Probably because he had been the reason why Fowler had come after her, too. He had also been the one to fix it, though. "I guess you had to survive a lot these past few years."

"Comes with the territory when you're married to an FBI agent."

Neal nodded thoughtfully. "He brings bad people into your life."

When she realized what he was saying, Elizabeth gave him a stern look. "You are not bad people, Neal. You never were."

"I'm not exactly good people either," he replied with a self-deprecating shrug.

"Maybe not, but we all make mistakes," Elizabeth told him. "Not necessarily the kind of mistakes that lead to faking your own death, but still."

A small, hopeful smile tugged at Neal's lips. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"It'll take time," Elizabeth said, and when she looked at him, she saw all the good in him and everything she wanted for him, everything she wanted him to want for himself. "You are more than your mistakes, Neal. You're more than what your parents made you. You are your own person and you can be whoever you want to be."

Neal just stood there, not saying anything at first, and she couldn't really read the expression on his face. "You know, when I was a little boy, my mom told me that James was the blue in my eyes," he said eventually, slowly. "Now, of course, I know that I don't want any part of him. But I'm glad that there's another Neal out there who will grow up and be happy to find that... you're the blue in his."

If Elizabeth's heart had ached before, it was practically screaming at her now. Rationally, she knew that Neal was a full-grown man and definitely too big to be swaddled and cradled in her arms. But even so, he deserved someone to protect him from the dangers of this world. And from himself.

"I told you once that I would be proud to have you as a son," she said and reached out for his hand that was hanging loosely by his side. "I meant that. I still do."

After a moment of stunned silence, Neal's face split into a broad grin. And whether he liked that his eyes were blue or not, the light inside of them was beautiful to Elizabeth.

"So, what now?" she asked.

"Now, you need to get back out there before Peter starts to panic," Neal told her, squeezing her hand. "And I will deal with James."

Elizabeth sighed and stood on her toes so she could wrap her arms around Neal. "Be careful," she said before she forced herself to let him go.

* * *

When Elizabeth had left the office, Neal gave it a few minutes before he snuck out into the hallway. He squeezed himself into a corner that allowed him to watch what was going on in the warehouse without being spotted. His eyes zeroed in on the Girardot. He was less concerned with the painting itself, though, than with its position.

It hadn't been mounted to the wall. Instead, it had been put on display on an easel that stood near the back of the warehouse. Exactly where it was supposed to be. Exactly where James could grab it – hopefully without hurting anyone in the process. And assuming, James was smart enough to figure out how.

Unfortunately, Neal was very sure that he would be. It wasn't just the color of their eyes they had in common.

The only question was what kind of distraction James would go for. But Neal didn't have to wait long for the answer.

* * *

Peter was staring at the surveillance monitors so hard, he felt like his eyes might pop out of his skull. At the very least, he would probably be left a little cross-eyed because he had one eye on Elizabeth at all times and the other on the rest of what was going on. Which wasn't much. They had access to every camera in the warehouse, and so far, this event was going off without a hitch. Usually, that was a good thing. But not if the plan hinged on that changing, and soon.

If this didn't work...

"Coffee?"

Surprised, Peter looked up. "What are you doing here, Sara?"

"I understand why it wouldn't have made sense for me to be at the warehouse. But I refuse to just sit on my hands in my hotel room. You people keep forgetting to call me when something happens," Sara replied, challenging him to disagree or even to kick her out. When he didn't, she relaxed visibly. "So, coffee anyone?"

She was holding a tray with four Styrofoam cups, and Jones and Diana gladly accepted one each, thanking her. Peter shook his head. He was on the edge of his seat already.

Sara seemed to understand and sat down next to him. "So, how's the bidding going?"

"What?"

"For the Girardot."

Peter frowned. "It doesn't matter. We're not actually selling it to anyone."

"It'll matter to Neal," Sara said. "You know what he will be like if someone would have been willing to pay way more than the estimated worth – the estimated worth of the real painting that doesn't actually exist."

Peter made a face. "You're right. We need to get that bidding sheet when this is all over."

"Maybe you should text Elizabeth."

They shared an amused look when Diana's sharp voice alerted them to something that was happening on the monitors. "Boss."

Peter's head whipped back around.

"The fire alarm just went off," Jones said.

The tension in Peter's chest tightened like a coiled spring. "It's time."

* * *

The excited chatter of the guests died instantly when the fire alarm put a sudden end to all conversation. A brief moment of confusion followed until the acrid smell of smoke wafted in, coming from the direction of the toilets. That's when people began to panic and to surge for the exits. It was the oldest trick in the book, and for good reason.

The security staff responded exactly as they had been trained to do. They headed for the source of the fire and secured all exits – both to make sure that no one got trampled to death and to stop anyone who looked suspicious from using the sudden panic to get in or out. The only problem with that strategy was that they completely ignored the most important exit. Because they didn't know it existed. Because, officially, it didn't.

Neal, however, knew better. And he was now the only one who was still watching the painting. Well, Neal and every camera in the warehouse. But all of them were directed at the front of the painting, only from different angles. What they weren't watching was the hidden access hatch in the floor right behind it. An access hatch that belonged to the abandoned subway station underneath the warehouse. When the station had been shut down, all access points, including this one, had been sealed as well. But James had had days to discover its existence and figure out how to get down there and get that hatch open again.

As soon as Moz had dug up the old building plans and a map of the subway from when the station had still been in use, they had known that it was the cleanest way in and out. And they had known exactly where to put the painting – as close to the edge of the hidden access hatch as possible. It was almost too easy. A little too perfect. And James should have noticed that, too, if he hadn't been so obsessed with this.

Even now with the alarm blaring, a part of Neal hoped that James would change his mind, that he wouldn't go through with it. But then the hatch was opened from below.

Every move that followed was executed with surgical precision. Climb out of the hatch. Stay hidden from view behind the painting. Ease it out of the frame from behind. And disappear down the hatch with it, with no one being any the wiser. It was fast, it was clean, it was efficient. It would have been impressive if it hadn't made Neal so sick to his stomach.

Because that could have, would have been him.

It was literally in his blood.

Neal cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The security staff had apprehended someone for starting the fire. Neal wouldn't have been surprised if it was the same guy who had attacked Elizabeth. In any case, they would give the all-clear soon. And then everyone would turn around and notice the gaping hole where mere minutes ago a supposedly multi-million-dollar painting had still been waiting for a new owner. Neal hated that Elizabeth had to deal with that mess and all the embarrassment. But it couldn't be helped. It was just one more reason to put an end to this.

Neal activated the jammer Moz had given him, jamming the signal from the tracker on the painting for anyone but him. He tried not to think of Peter's reaction when he would see the signal go dark. But now was not the time for second thoughts. Before the guests could start coming back inside, Neal ran over to the hatch, threw it open, and climbed down into the tunnels underneath.

* * *

He was quickly swallowed up by darkness. James had enough of a head start that Neal could no longer see the light of his flashlight. The tunnels down here were like a maze, former train tracks going in different directions and maintenance tunnels crisscrossing between them. Thankfully, the tracking signal was strong and clear and a lot easier to follow than the glow of James' lamp.

Neal had looked at the plans for these tunnels, but unlike Mozzie he didn't have perfect recall. Plus, he didn't know where James planned to exit. It didn't matter. Neal had to catch up to him before James could decide to stash the painting somewhere down here and come back for it later. Searching blindly, Neal would never find him.

The further he ran, the more he felt a sense of foreboding. The air down here was stale, almost dead, and every sound he made was quickly smothered. Neal had never been claustrophobic, but now he felt as if the walls of these tunnels were beginning to close in on him. Preparing to swallow him whole.

He gritted his teeth. As long as he would take his father with him, he was fine with that.

The signal from the painting stopped moving. Worried that something had gone terribly wrong, Neal sped up. He rounded a corner and stopped dead.

Standing in front of him, catching his breath, was the man he had thought he would never see again. The man who was a part of him, whether he wanted him to or not. The man he could never cut out of his life completely because without him he would have never even existed in the first place.

James Bennett jumped in surprise. Clearly, he hadn't expected anyone to follow him down here. Not this fast anyway. But his surprise didn't stop him from reaching for his gun. He pointed both the weapon and his flashlight right at Neal's face.

The light was too bright for Neal to see much of anything, but it didn't matter. "Nice to see you, too, _Dad,"_ he said, deadpan, and standing perfectly still.

For a couple of heartbeats nothing happened. Then James lowered the gun but not the flashlight. "Neal!?" he whispered, and he held the flashlight even closer to his face as if trying to make sure that this wasn't a trick of the light – or the shadows. "But you're dead!"

Neal sighed. "Not just yet."

"But…" James faltered, his thoughts racing, grappling to come to terms with what he was seeing, searching for an explanation, until his face lit up with the answer. "It was a con! You conned the Pink Panthers! And the FBI! You conned… everybody," he said, and it sounded as if he had never been more in awe of Neal.

It was everything he had ever wanted. His father's approval. Except, he was praising him for having lied and hurt people. Neal curled his hands into fists, and when James put down the flashlight on an old junction box and then pulled Neal into his arms for a hug, he just stood there, his stomach churning.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were alive, son?"

"I didn't think you cared," Neal replied coldly.

James took a step back. "What are you talking about?"

"Last time I saw you, you warned me not to come near you again," Neal reminded him.

"Because you wanted to turn me in to the FBI!"

"Because you had shot a United States senator and you would have let Peter go down for what you did!"

Some of the wonder of seeing Neal again began to fade from James' expression. "Peter is FBI. They would have offered him some kind of deal. But me… they would have locked me up for the rest of my life."

"Maybe that's where you belong."

"Is that really what you think, Neal?" James asked, his face hardening. "Is that why you faked my confession? Because you want your old man to rot away in prison?"

"I had to help Peter," Neal said simply.

James seemed to bite back a response and paused to think. "But you're free of him now. We both are. He thinks you're dead and he can't touch me. That fake confession you made actually works out quite well for me now. And with the Panthers gone, we could be better than they ever were. You and me."

"Then it was you? Who killed Woodford?" Neal asked, and though it wasn't really a surprise, it was still unpleasant.

"I didn't know then," James replied slowly. "I didn't know that it was all a con. I thought the Panthers had gotten you killed. And with them locked up for life, someone had to step up and pick up where they had left off. Where they had failed."

Neal shook his head. "Why?"

"You don't know what it was like for me, Neal. To be shipped off to some godawful town in Montana under a ridiculous new WITSEC name, cut off from you and your mother. Thirty years, Neal. I lost thirty years of my life!"

Neal scoffed. "That's what happens when you kill a cop."

"I didn't have a choice!" James defended himself heatedly. "I was trying to support you and your mother on a cop's salary… What's the point of following the rules when all they do is screw over those who work hard and blow money up the asses of people who don't deserve it? I did what I had to do. And I'm done hiding because of it. I've been hiding from the Flynns, from Pratt, from the FBI. And I thought I had lost you, too. That's not my life, Neal. That's not what I want. But I realized all I had to do was take it. And now that you're alive, we can do it together. This is the good life, Neal. The life we deserve."

"Killing people?" Neal asked, disgusted.

James sighed. "Woodford had it coming. He was the real killer. And so was Pratt. You know that."

"What about that guard at the Met?"

"That was an accident. I'm not doing this to hurt people."

"Then why did you tell Peter that you would hurt his son?" Neal challenged him.

James took a deep breath, as if looking for strength. It was almost believable. "I know I wasn't there for you, Neal. But when you have a son, it's like there's this part of your own body that lives and breathes independently from you. And there's no worse feeling than knowing that you failed to protect him. I had to use that to keep Burke off my back." He paused. "I know that sounds wrong..."

"That's because it is! Because there are lines," Neal shot back.

James stepped closer again, facing him squarely. "Yes, and either you have what it takes to cross those lines when you need to or you get left behind. Don't get left behind, Neal. Don't let anyone chain you up again. This is only the beginning of what you could do!"

"And what's that? Crawl through dark, enclosed spaces with a fake painting on my back?" Neal asked coolly while he slid a hand into his pocket to deactivate the jammer.

"What?" James recoiled as if Neal had slapped him. The air between them shifted in an instant, becoming thick, poisoned. "No…" James hissed, his eyes going back and forth between Neal and the rolled-up painting he had stolen.

"You told me I should paint more. Still no Neal Caffrey originals, but as you know I'm pretty decent at forgeries," he said, and he was feeling oddly calm now.

Once again, James' thoughts were racing, putting two and two together. "You set me up! But the painting was authenticated and insured, and the FBI had nothing to do with it. I checked…"

"That's because I do know how to cross lines. You weren't there to raise me, but you taught me that much," Neal told him.

James' eyes flashed. "I'm still your father, Neal!"

"Are you? Nothing you ever did was really about me. It was always about you!"

"That's not true. I never would have taken that money…"

"I didn't want money. I wanted my dad!" Neal shouted, his voice echoing hauntingly.

James bristled, but he tried to rise above his anger. "I'm here, Neal. It's not too late…"

"Prove it!" Neal cut him off. "Own up to what you did!"

James shook his head. "That means… going back to prison."

"I'll visit you," Neal said. He had no idea where that offer came from. Maybe it was the little boy in him who refused to say goodbye again. "Walking the straight and narrow is not what our family does. But we can be better than this. We can have whatever is left between us. You can still be my dad."

But just like when Neal had been that little boy, all he saw was his father slamming the door in his face.

"No. They would lock me up for the rest of my life…" His expression suddenly blank, James pulled his gun back out. He kept it pointed to the ground, but his voice was low when he asked, "Where is the FBI waiting for me?"

Neal remained silent. And he couldn't have told him even if he had wanted to.

"Stop lying to me, Neal. I know you did this for Burke. So where is he?"

"I don't know," Neal answered honestly. "Because I lied to him, too. Maybe he can get us adjacent cells when he arrests us both."

"Then he would have to get one for himself, too. Because I'm taking him down with me," James hissed.

Neal shook his head. "It's over, Dad. There's no getting out of this. But Peter never did anything wrong. Other than trusting me. He's a good man. Better than you or I could ever be. He doesn't deserve this. Please. Don't do this to him."

James stared at him blankly. "Why? Why is his love worth more than mine?"

"Because with Peter, I never even had to ask," Neal said simply.

They were both quiet then, the silence between them stretching, as dark and never-ending as these tunnels.

Suddenly, there was light, and footsteps, and lots of shouting, twice as loud as it should have been, breaking through the darkness, filling up the emptiness, echoing multiple times.

FBI. FBI. FBI.

James reacted faster than Neal did. Lunging forward, he wrapped his left arm around Neal's neck, putting him in a stranglehold that was surprisingly strong for his age. Perhaps it was fueled by desperation, but James' other hand was perfectly calm when he held his gun up to Neal's head.

"Stay back, Peter! Or I'll shoot!" he warned.

* * *

When Peter had thought that he couldn't despise this man any more than he already did, he had been sorely mistaken. To watch as James held Neal, held his own son hostage at gunpoint to leverage him for his own freedom… It was the final straw.

But he needed to stay focused. "It's over, James," Peter said calmly. "There's no way out."

Unfortunately, that wasn't completely true. Peter was flanked by Jones and Diana, and the rest of his team was spread out in these tunnels. But they hadn't brought enough manpower to find and block every single exit. And James knew it.

"I don't think so, Peter," he said, taking a step back and dragging Neal with him.

"Let him go, James!" Peter urged him. "Lower your weapon, and no one has to get hurt."

"You're right. If you had taken me up on my offer, we wouldn't even be here. But we're past that now," James replied and took another step.

"James! Stop!" Peter threatened, trying to find somewhere to point his own weapon. But James was almost completely hidden behind Neal. In this light, it was an impossibly dangerous shot.

James knew that, too. "You're not going to shoot."

Peter mirrored his movements and took a step forward when he took one back, waiting for a window when James' hold on Neal would slip. "Neither are you."

But James' grip was strong and he pressed the barrel of his gun harder into Neal's skin to prove his point. "Are you willing to bet his life on that?"

Peter clenched his jaw, holding position. Jones and Diana were waiting for a cue from him. They outnumbered James three to one and yet they were at a perfect stalemate.

"Just take the shot, Peter!" Neal called. "We both know it's better this way."

Slowly, Peter's eyes went from James to Neal. "No. Don't you dare be a martyr now, Neal. I won't let you die on me again."

"I thought that's what you wanted," Neal reminded him. "For me to stay dead. Well, this is your chance."

"Damn it, Neal! You know I didn't mean that," Peter shot back.

"Sounded like you did."

"Because I was angry…"

"Angry with me," Neal nodded. "And you had every right to be."

Peter closed his eyes for a second. "No. Angry with myself. For failing to protect the people I love. Including you."

When Neal didn't immediately respond, James angrily pulled him back another step. "I guess that means that you're not going to shoot, Peter, so we'll be leaving now."

"This isn't freedom, James!" Peter hissed, gripping his gun so hard his knuckles were turning white. "No way to live. Not without family or anyone who cares about you! If you hurt Neal, there'll be no one left."

"And whose fault is that? You're the one who took him from me. Even now, you keep taking him from me. But if you don't let me go, I will tell all these good agents here today and everyone else at the FBI what else you did!" James warned.

"You're wrong," Neal spoke up loudly, cutting him off. "Peter didn't take me from you. _You_ took me from you. I never really had a father. I never even knew who I was. Until I met Peter. And now... now I know. I am my father's son."

Neal's eyes practically bore into Peter's, begging him to listen, trying to make him understand. His gaze was so intense as if his life depended on Peter hearing him. Trusting him.

And he did.

Peter adjusted his aim and fired.

The bullet hit Neal with such force and speed that the impact ripped him off his feet and forced James to let him go. James stumbled backwards, barely able to stay upright while Neal dropped to the ground.

A moment of collective shock settled over them. His training taking over, Peter snapped out of it quickly and surged forward. James tried to raise his weapon again, but Peter got to him first. He delivered a blow that sent James' gun flying out of his hand and then another one to James' gut that had him doubling over, gasping for air. Peter was tempted to lay him out completely. For hurting El, for letting him go to prison, for threatening his son, and for Neal. But thinking of Neal made him pause. Jones and Diana were right behind him and he let them take care of the rest.

Trusting his team, Peter holstered his weapon and ran back to where Neal had fallen. With his heart in his throat, Peter dropped to the ground next to him. "Neal!" he yelled.

There was no answer, no wry grin, no mischievous glint in his eyes, and Peter felt like the whole world had suddenly tilted, the ground beneath his feet opening up into a deep hole. Darkness threatened to close in on him at the edges of his vision. A vision that began to blur, coming in and out of focus. In time with his panicked heartbeat.

"Come on, Neal! Don't you dare do this to me. Not again!"

With shaking hands Peter ripped open Neal's shirt and jacket, and finally he took a deep, steadying breath. Trembling with relief, Peter rested his forehead on Neal's chest – which was protected by a bulletproof vest. Peter's bullet had knocked the wind out of him, and it would definitely leave a nasty bruise. But other than that, Neal was alive and breathing.

Now that Peter knew that Neal would be okay, the rest of the world streamed back in. James was screaming, struggling against Jones and Diana who had disarmed and cuffed him. For once, he didn't seem to care, though. He didn't even seem to notice his bleeding nose. He was completely focused on Neal, still lying motionless.

"You shot him! You killed Neal! You killed my son!"

"He's not dead, James!" Peter said, raising his voice so James would hear him. "Neal's fine. He was wearing a vest." He moved to the side a little, unblocking James' view of Neal's chest where there was not a single speck of blood. "That's what he was trying to tell me... It's standard FBI procedure to wear a vest when entering situations that will likely involve lethal force."

James stared at Neal's vest. It wasn't FBI standard issue. It was slimmer than that, looked to be military grade and a lot more expensive. Probably bought with stolen money, but Peter was not going to start arguing about that now.

"He knew…? He... expected one of us to shoot him?" James muttered.

"Well, I wasn't the one who used him as a human shield," Peter pointed out.

"I did what I had to do… to get us both out of here."

"To get yourself out of here. Don't pretend this was anything else," Peter snapped, and then he turned his back on James again. He could feel that Neal was coming to.

As soon as he did and found Peter kneeling next to him, his face relaxed into a grin – a grin that was so damn cocky as no one who had just taken a bullet to the chest had any right to be. "I always knew you'd end up shooting me one day," he said.

Peter shook his head, but he was smiling, too. "You asked for it."

"Yeah. Thanks for not going for the head," Neal joked.

It wasn't really funny, though, and Peter sobered somewhat. "For the record, of all the crazy stunts you pulled... this one... definitely your worst one yet."

Neal shrugged. "Technically, this was your stunt as much as mine. I couldn't have shot myself. Not this time."

"OPR will have lots of questions about this." Peter was not looking forward to that conversation. He had discharged his service weapon plenty of times, but never like this.

"Well, I hear that's cheaper than therapy," Neal teased.

"I don't need therapy. I'm not the one running around begging people to shoot him."

"It was worth the risk to make sure Elizabeth and Neal Junior are safe," Neal said, serious this time.

Still, Peter made a face. "Don't call him Neal Junior."

Neal quirked an eyebrow. "Neal the Second?"

"Nope."

"Okay, but we've got to think of something or this will get very confusing once he starts to walk and talk. I mean, if we were to be in the same house by then," Neal added, and for the first time his smile faltered a little.

Peter fixed him with a stern look. "Neal, if you don't come back home with us now, I will shoot you – for real this time."

Neal's grin was back, twice as big as before. "No, thanks. Once is enough. This stings a hell of a lot more than I remembered."

"That's because these vests are meant as a last resort and not to be used for target practice," Peter told him.

"I'll remember that next time," Neal said. "Can you help me up now?"

"I don't know." Peter took in Neal's disheveled look. "Once we get back up there, one of us has to explain this to Elizabeth."

Neal grimaced. "Not it."

Peter rolled his eyes at him, but he stood and pulled Neal back up as well. He moved gingerly but seemed healthy otherwise – for someone who had been shot at close range. And as someone who had done the shooting, Peter was just glad to see Neal back on his feet.

* * *

"Neal."

It was James. He had calmed down, but Jones and Diana were still flanking him, despite the cuffs. They would not be fooled by this man ever again.

When Neal turned to face him, all James said was, "I'm sorry."

It could have very well been the first time James had said that to him and truly meant it.

"So am I," Neal replied, and he meant that, too.

"Did you mean what you said about coming to see me in prison?" James asked.

"That might be difficult. If you insist on getting Peter indicted, I will be right behind him. Everything he did was only to cover for what I had already done. But I guess, if they put us in the same prison, the three of us will have more than enough time to work all of this out," Neal said, keeping his voice level.

James held his gaze for several heartbeats, and as much as Neal hated it, it was like looking into a mirror. He had been where his father was now. He had experienced this very moment. The moment when even the smartest conman had to face the truth – that he had been outsmarted by the FBI or, rather, by his own demons. For Neal, it had been Kate. For James, maybe it was Neal, or maybe it was the feeling that he could never quite have what he thought he deserved.

Either way, once those demons caught up with you, there was no way out. Nowhere to run. No way to outsmart what was hidden deep inside the soul. James had gotten away with a lot of things, but he wouldn't get out of these cuffs, not this time, and now the pieces were going to fall one after the other. The only question was whether Neal and Peter would be two of those pieces.

Finally, James turned his head to look at Peter. "If I make a full confession... another one," he added pointedly, "... will you talk to the prosecutor to get me a good deal?"

"You are going back to prison, James," Peter told him bluntly.

"I know," James said. "But I guess I have never really been free. Not since I took that dirty money."

Peter was clearly surprised by this, and, to be honest, so was Neal. But maybe James was looking into a mirror, too, and he didn't like what he was seeing any more than Neal did. Neal saw where he had come from and where he had almost ended up. And James saw everything he had failed to be and everything he had become instead.

"I can try," Peter said grimly in answer to James' question.

James looked from Peter back to Neal. "You may not want to be my son, but I am your father. And I will prove it to you."

Neal was pretty sure that one decent decision could not make up for a whole life. But it could fix some of the things that had been broken in Peter's. And that was all that mattered to him.

"Goodbye, Dad."

There was nothing else left to say. Maybe there was just nothing left at all. For now, Neal knew only one thing for sure. He was running no longer, and neither was James Bennett.

Peter could tell that he was done and he gave Jones a nod to get James out of there.

Jones grabbed James' right arm to lead him away, but he stopped when he passed Neal. "It's good to see you again, Caffrey," he said. "Try to stop dying. You owe me like a year worth of drinks."

Neal chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Diana was right behind Jones, and the look on her face was decidedly less forgiving. "You made me cry at your funeral," she said, her accusation clear. "I hate crying. Especially over empty coffins."

"I could cook a nice apology dinner for you and Theo," Neal offered hesitantly.

"That better be a damn good one."

"You know me. I don't do anything halfway."

Diana's eyes went to the dent in his bulletproof vest. "Yeah, no kidding." She laughed and lightly hit him on the shoulder before she followed Jones. "See you later, Caffrey."

"You never offered to make me dinner," Peter noted when he came to stand next to him.

"Diana scares me more than you," Neal replied distractedly. He was still looking after James as he was being marched away by Jones and Diana. "Do you really think he'll go quietly now?" he wondered.

"I think watching your son die can change everything," Peter said gravely.

Neal watched until James, Jones, and Diana had disappeared around a corner. "Then how about we listen to Jones and stop with the dying altogether?"

Peter side-eyed him. "As long as we also stop with all the lying. Or tampering with tracking signals behind my back."

"About that..." Neal said, cringing. But then he noticed something that didn't add up. "Wait. How _did_ you find me so fast?" He had deactivated the jammer eventually, but with these tunnels being as labyrinthine as they were, Peter shouldn't have been able to catch up with him as quickly as he had.

"Just in case something went wrong, or somebody decided to _improvise, _I made sure I had a second tracker – on you. When the painting went dark, I followed that one," Peter explained.

"What? No way." He was no longer wearing the anklet or a watch or any other GPS recording device the FBI had previously used. Clearly, Peter had followed him somehow, though. On a hunch, Neal reached inside the pocket of his jacket and his eyes widened when he came up with a small GPS chip. He had never worn this jacket before today.

"How?" he wondered until realization hit him. "Elizabeth!" he said, remembering the hug she had given him earlier. She must have dropped the chip into his pocket then.

Peter's only response was a wide grin, which was all the confirmation he needed. Neal wanted to be upset that they had tricked him into wearing another anklet of sorts, but he was actually kind of proud of Elizabeth. After all, she had learned that move from him – how to get close to someone as a distraction to either take or plant something.

"So she told you."

"She didn't need to. I knew you wouldn't sit this one out, not after what I said to you," Peter explained. He probably would have been a lot angrier if he hadn't felt like this was partially his fault.

"I wouldn't have let James get away, Peter," Neal said. He wanted to make that clear at least. "I just needed a chance to talk to him. Stop him from hurting anyone else."

"What about hurting you?" Peter asked.

"That's what the vest was for."

Peter looked darkly at the mark his bullet had left. "You put a lot of faith in a piece of Kevlar."

"Actually, I never really thought the vest would be the one to save me," Neal said. He didn't think he needed to clarify who had saved him. In more ways than one.

The corner of Peter's mouth twitched. "I feel like I should ground you now."

"I thought that's what this was for." Neal held up the GPS tracker. He had always seen his anklet as a punishment – a constant reminder of his prison sentence to carry around with him day and night. But this tracker, it felt a little different somehow.

"And I thought I told you in Paris that I wasn't going to accept any more scheming behind my back," Peter reminded him.

"I'm pretty sure you said no more breaking the law behind your back," Neal corrected him. "And I didn't. There's no rule against putting yourself in harm's way."

Peter huffed. "There is in the Burke household."

"You seem to have a lot of new rules suddenly," Neal pointed out.

"They're not new."

"What then?" Neal asked. "And don't say they are for people who have a headstone with their name on it because that joke's really getting old."

"I don't have rules for dead people, Neal," Peter said as he turned away and started walking down the tunnel. "I only have them for family."

It took him a moment to catch up, but then Neal grinned, and buttoning up his shirt as best as he could, he hurried to follow Peter.

"And just to be clear," Peter said, stopping again when Neal reached him. "I was the one who was out of line when I yelled at you the other day. And I'm sorry."

As soon as he said it, Neal realized that he had never actually needed Peter to apologize. He hadn't been upset about Peter saying those things to him. He had been upset about the very real possibility that they could be true. Being given the chance to prove them wrong was worth more than any apology.

"So, any other rules I should know about? Don't touch the remote during a Yankees game? Don't put empty milk cartons back in the fridge? Don't use hand towels to wipe down the kitchen counter?"

Peter heaved a sigh as if he regretted his words already. "You and El talk way too much about me."

Neal flashed him a smile. "I'm a good listener. Women love that about me."

"Okay. No," Peter said and kept walking.

"No what?" Neal asked, following.

"No to quoting my own house rules back to me. No to suggesting I don't listen to my wife. And definitely no to ganging up on me behind my back," Peter listed as he lengthened his stride as if to outrun this conversation.

Neal smirked. "Should I be writing this down?"

* * *

When they climbed back out of the tunnels and reentered the warehouse, Peter was immediately drawn to El's presence, their eyes meeting across the room. She had been busy dealing with the fallout, clearing out the guests and cleaning up the place. He could tell by the way she held herself – a certain stiffness to her spine and a tension in her shoulders that made her look taller than she really was.

But now her face lit up with a beautiful smile that took his breath away, and Peter knew that would never change.

El handed a clipboard to Yvonne and hurried over to them. She hugged Peter first, but then she reached out to pull Neal into her embrace as well. Peter and Neal's heads almost bumped into each other, but when Peter squinted at Neal, he was laughing.

That laughter caught in his throat, however, when El stepped back to look at them and asked, "What happened to your suit?"

"Funny story, actually. And Peter wanted to be the one to tell you," Neal replied smoothly, giving Peter a pat on the back. "I need to go... over there."

Peter was about to shoot him a withering look, but then he saw that Neal wasn't just running away from this conversation. He was actually running towards Sara, who was just walking in, ending a phone call. She had insisted on coming when the team had rolled out. Thankfully, she hadn't tried to follow them down into the tunnels. Possibly because she had enough to deal with regarding the illegitimate painting.

In any case, Peter understood that Neal wanted to talk to her. Following James' arrest, there were a lot of things that Peter still needed to take care of before this day was over. And, being at the very center of it all, so did Neal. But for now, Peter just wanted a moment to be with his wife.

"What does that mean?" she asked now, following Neal's sudden departure.

"It means that everything worked out the way we hoped it would. Well, for the most part," Peter told her.

El seemed to decide that she didn't need all the answers right this very minute, just the one that was most important to their family. "I saw Jones and Diana bring James up here in cuffs. So, what's going to happen now?"

"I don't think he's going to say anything about the fake confession, Dawson, or any of it."

"Why not?"

"I think he's doing it for Neal," Peter said thoughtfully.

"Oh, thank God," El breathed, laying her palms against his chest. Against his own bulletproof vest. But he really did not want to think about that any longer, so he reached out and wrapped her hands in his.

"Is it over then?" El asked.

"You know, you asked me that once before. The day Neal went to prison – the first time," Peter remembered with a bemused smile on his lips. "And I told you that it was."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad we were both wrong."

"So am I," Peter agreed, looking over at Neal and Sara.

El followed his gaze. "What's he going to do now?" she wondered.

"First of all, there'll be tons of paperwork for him to officially join the land of the living again. The state doesn't look too kindly on faking your own death. Too much overtime," Peter smirked.

He was so not going to help Neal cut through all of that red tape. Okay, maybe he would. If he asked nicely.

"And then it's up to him. He fulfilled his contract with the FBI. Considering that he brought in the Pink Panthers, the higher-ups would probably be willing to offer him a new one. Diana just got an offer to move to D.C. Jones could use a new partner."

"Jones, huh?" El asked dubiously.

"Yes, Jones," Peter nodded, choosing his next words carefully. "Because Jones is a field agent, whereas I am ASAC. I'm not in the field anymore. I'm just supervising from the safety of my office because that's what ASACs do... I mean, unless an agent needs my help, then I could supervise a little more closely... _and_ safely."

El looked torn between exasperation and amusement. "Honey, if you want to work with Neal again, I won't stop you."

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but El cut him off by putting a finger to his lips. "Under one condition. No U-boat chases, no billion-dollar heists, and no personal vendettas against criminal masterminds or corrupt senators."

"So... basically nothing but mortgage fraud and Ponzi schemes?" Peter asked, pursing his lips to contain his laughter.

"I will allow you the occasional cat burglary and art theft," El amended, her eyes sparkling. There was a serious undertone, though. This wasn't a laughing matter to her, not completely.

And Peter knew the reason. That little baby boy, who was waiting for them at home. Who would always be waiting for them to come home. And today maybe more than ever, Peter never wanted to disappoint him. Or his mother.

The idea of going back out there, back to chasing bad guys from underground poker clubs to skyscraper rooftops, was definitely tempting. But at the end of the day, nothing was more important to him than his family. They were the true stars in his sky.

"I think you're right. These past few weeks were adventurous enough for all of us," he said. "A simple case of good old identity theft might be just what I need."

"Are you sure?" El asked. She never wanted him to do something just to make her happy, unless it made him happy as well.

Which it always did. "Yup. I happen to like my office. It has something the field doesn't."

"What's that?"

Peter hooked a finger in the belt of El's dress to pull her closer. "A picture of you."

El chuckled and pressed a kiss to his lips. Holding her in his arms, Peter relaxed for the first time today.

"Hon?" El said softly.

"Mhm?" Peter hummed, his chin resting on top of her head.

"Why is there a bullet hole in Neal's shirt?"

* * *

At first, it had been just a happy coincidence that he had spotted Sara at the same time that Elizabeth had started asking questions. But when Neal saw the smile on Sara's face that always had a mischievous edge to it as if the two of them were sharing a secret, he felt his feet pick up the pace.

He crossed the warehouse in a sprint, well aware that this made people look at him funny. But it didn't feel silly to Neal. Because he wasn't running away. He knew exactly where he was going.

The only thing he hadn't anticipated was the force of their collision when he and Sara met and she willingly drew him into her arms. Neal's senses wholeheartedly approved of being engulfed in the scent of her as well as her touch, but his rips protested with a sharp pang.

He tried to ignore it, but Sara noticed. "Are you okay?" she asked, drawing back.

"I'm fine," Neal assured her. "It's only a bruise from where Peter shot me."

"Wait. He did _what?"_

"Never mind that now," Neal said impatiently, cupping her face in his hands. He took a moment to gaze at her, her eyes wide but unafraid to meet his. And then he kissed her the way he should have kissed her the first time he had seen her again in Paris. Taking his time, letting the need burn and the passion build slowly. Not driven by desperation and the fear of goodbye, but genuine desire and the luxury of knowing that they could do this all day.

It was Sara who pulled away eventually. "Woah, slow down there, cowboy. People are watching," she said with a cute blush to her cheeks. "Well, two of them, anyway."

Neal glanced over his shoulder at Peter and Elizabeth, who didn't even have the decency to act caught. They were both watching them shamelessly. Peter had a goofy grin on his face and Elizabeth's look was hopeful. All Neal could do was laugh.

"So what?" he said when he turned back towards Sara. "It's not as if those two can keep their hands off each other or have ever even tried."

"Well, they don't have to. No one wants to know what it means when they are seen kissing in public," Sara argued.

"I think it means that they love each other in an annoyingly adorable forever and a day kind of way," Neal said with a chuckle, but he really did believe that. There weren't a lot of constants in his life. But as long as there were people like Peter and Elizabeth Burke, there was hope.

"Sounds about right," Sara agreed. "For them. But what will people think about us?"

Neal knew, of course, what she was asking. Still, he shrugged. "I don't really care what they think."

Sara fixed him with a piercing look. "Okay, what do _you_ think, then?" Her tone was light, but the question wasn't. They had walked this tightrope for as long as they possibly could.

Neal took a moment to take her in. Her rich red hair and deliciously curved lips that never seemed to stop teasing him. Those high heels and tight skirts that made her look delicate when in fact she had her favorite baton tucked away somewhere to kick some serious ass if she needed to. And that fiery spark in her eyes that warned him to choose his next words wisely.

"You asked me if I would have proposed to you for real, not just for the con," he said, ignoring the ache in his chest when he got down on one knee, and he kept his eyes on Sara, whose hand trembled slightly in his. "Well, I'm asking now. Not for your hand in marriage. Not yet," he added with the tiniest of devious smiles. "But for your trust. For a chance," he continued earnestly.

"I don't want to wait for another time and another place anymore. I don't just want that house in the clouds. I want us to figure out who we really are together. I won't pretend to have all the answers. But I know that this is the time. This is the place. I love you, Sara Ellis. Will you go on one more adventure with me? Will you go look for another us? Down here on earth and up in the clouds and anywhere in between?"

Her eyes glistened with tears of joy and rage and love, and Sara needed a couple of heartbeats to make her quivering lips form an answer. "Yes," she breathed. "With you, I'd go anywhere."

His smile was as wide as it was sweet, and he jumped back to his feet to pull her in for another kiss. This one even more leisurely and deep than before, exploring every inch and enjoying every second of it. Eventually, he ended it by dipping her into a back-bending kiss. If they did have an audience, they could just as well give them a little bit of a show.

Thoroughly out of breath and flushed with heat, they came back up for air, their foreheads resting together.

"So, where exactly is it that we're going?" Sara asked, smiling.

Neal grimaced. "Actually, our adventure might have to wait until I'm officially no longer dead. Right now, I couldn't even fly to London with you. Not as Neal Caffrey, anyway." He sighed, not sure if Sara really knew what she had just agreed to.

But Sara seemed entirely unconcerned. "That's okay. I'm in no rush to get back."

"Isn't Sterling Bosch anxious to have you back?" Neal asked, frowning.

"Not unless they need me to clean out my office."

"What?"

"They don't like what happened here. Even though it was for a good cause, they say it's an embarrassment that we authenticated a fake painting, which by tomorrow will be front page news. So I quit before they could decide if they wanted to fire me," Sara explained.

Neal stared at her. He had been afraid of this, and still he had done nothing to stop it. "Sara. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Sara replied, cupping his cheek until he relaxed again. "Running after greedy bastards and arrogant psychopaths who think they can get away with insurance fraud isn't exactly the dream job I was hoping to do for the rest of my life."

"With the exception of one irresistibly charming and unbelievably handsome psychopath, I hope?" Neal teased.

"Of course. Except for him," Sara agreed, and they both had to laugh. It was almost surreal to think back to the testimony she had once given to help send Neal to jail. "You know, if you had told me back then that I would end up being with you... I wouldn't have believed it. Not in a million years."

Neal grinned. "I would have."

"Come on, Neal. You didn't like me either."

"I didn't… not like you. I thought you were very… intense," he said.

"Uh-huh."

"Turns out intense is good. Stealing that Raphael? Smartest move I ever made."

Sara laughed. "We should hang that painting in our living room." She paused. "I mean, if we have a living room wall… someday."

Neal wrapped his arms around her waist. "A living room wall sounds perfect."

"Except, I'm out of a job and you're out of… everything," Sara realized, but the thought didn't seem to scare her. Quite the opposite, actually.

Neal's smile grew. "Well, I have it on good authority that the Burkes are always looking for good babysitters."

"Really? What does that pay?"

"The occasional amazingly home-cooked dinner and… free hugs?"

Sara's brow furrowed. "Didn't you say Peter shot you?"

"That's his way of showing love."

Sara snorted. "Oh, okay then." She was quiet for a moment, her mood shifting. "I'm really glad you're okay, Neal. You had me worried there for a minute," she said.

"I had me worried for a minute there, too," Neal admitted.

"You didn't really think that there was no one here who loved you, did you?" she asked.

Neal quirked an eyebrow. "Is that your roundabout way of saying you love me?"

Sara rolled her eyes at him. "You're an idiot."

"And?"

"And I guess that makes me an idiot, too, because… I do love you."

Grinning like… well, like an idiot, Neal pulled her in for another kiss.

This time, they only separated when someone cleared their throat. It was Peter. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have to get back to the FBI," he said. They needed their witness statements, after action reports, and all the other fun paperwork Neal hadn't missed.

Still, he nodded, gave Sara another quick kiss, and then followed Peter out of the warehouse.

The FBI vehicles were parked out front, and Diana and Jones were loading James into the back of a black SUV. Neal stopped until they had closed the doors and James had disappeared from view.

Peter followed his gaze. "If there's anything you want to say to him without cameras or a pane of glass between you, now is the time."

"No. There's nothing more to say."

"You'll have to face him again if there's a trial," Peter warned him.

"I know," Neal nodded. "And I will. I'll do whatever needs to be done to make sure he keeps his word and pays for what he did. The right way," he added after a beat. "It's like you said. To be a part of the real world means to be responsible for someone other than yourself."

Peter looked at him without saying anything for a while. "I'm proud of you, Neal," he said eventually, which caused Neal to look up in surprise. "I know you went off book again on this one. Actually, you went outside of the whole goddamn library. But… you did it for the right reasons."

Over the years, they had had their fair share of arguments over what counted as the right reasons. So for Peter to say that to him… it meant a whole lot more than seeing James in the back of that van.

"Thank you, Peter," Neal said sincerely.

Peter put his hand on his shoulder and let it weigh there for a moment. "Let's go," he said then. "El wants us home in time for dinner."

Neal nodded. He could definitely get used to the sound of that. No matter how things had turned out, he was keenly aware that he had come very close to missing out on all of this altogether.

"Just out of curiosity, how sure were you before you took that shot?" he asked on the way to Peter's car.

"Pretty sure," Peter replied, but he busied himself with unlocking the car doors and wouldn't look at him.

"What's that? Like 95 percent sure? 90?" Neal asked, sliding his hands into his pockets and realizing that he had forgotten to accidentally drop and step on the GPS chip that was still in there.

Peter gave him a non-committal half-nod, half-shake of his head.

"85 percent?" Neal suggested, his voice going up. "Less than 80 percent?"

"More like 70," Peter replied.

"You shot me with a 30 percent chance of killing me? That's cold, Peter."

"Well, how else are you going to learn to stop pulling stupid stunts like this?"

Neal's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, tough love, huh? Poor Neal Junior."

"I told you not to call him that," Peter protested.

Neal shrugged. "I didn't hear you make a better suggestion."

"I don't need to, because my son already has a name," Peter argued. "I know because I gave it to him."

"But it was my name first."

"And then you chose to 'die,'" Peter said, using ridiculous air quotes that made Neal roll his eyes.

"So what? In this family you forfeit your right to your own name when you die?" he asked.

"You forfeit your right to complain about it," Peter nodded, but he was clearly suppressing a grin.

Neal didn't even bother. "Okay, I have to tell you, I'm not feeling the love right now."

Except, still twirling the GPS chip between his fingers, he did.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry to say that we're getting close to the end of this story. But I do hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	14. Cappuccinos in the Clouds

**A/N: This is it. The final chapter. I had so much fun with this story, I would have loved to continue. But while I was planning this chapter, it felt like I had accomplished what I had set out to do. Of course, there are always more stories to tell, and maybe I will. Until then, thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me. Your kind words and encouragement have meant the world to me. I hope you can enjoy this ending. It's what I would have loved to see on the show. And even though it's not quite time yet, I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas!**

* * *

No matter what it said on his headstone, death had, in fact, not come for Neal. But there had been days when he had felt dead inside. When everyone you loved thought you were gone, then who the hell were you? That question had haunted Neal for most of his life, and he had been close to losing himself in the streets of Paris forever.

It was a beautiful way to go, he had thought. The evanescence of Neal Caffrey in the City of Light. He had almost made his peace with that.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Because there was nothing more beautiful than the soft solidity of Sara's body, pressed firmly against his, and the million different kinds of red that shimmered in her hair in the early morning sunlight. It made him want to capture her likeness on an empty canvas, though he could never do her justice. It made him want to kiss her until her lips were swollen, which would be an easier and a lot more pleasurable task. And it made him feel alive.

More alive than he had ever been.

"I just realized that we never have to get out of this bed if we don't want to." Sara stretched lazily, like a cat, causing the sheets they had gotten tangled up in to slip.

Neal grinned and traced invisible patterns on her exposed skin. "No regrets then?"

"About quitting Sterling Bosch? No."

"I hear a 'but' coming."

Sara shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it just feels a little strange, not knowing what's next. Doesn't it?"

"Not really. Because I know exactly what happens next," Neal said, ripping away the sheets completely, and he gently nudged Sara's legs apart as he shifted on top of her. He no longer had a bulky anklet to worry about and he had a lot of ideas how to make use of that, many more than they had tried out so far.

Of course, that's when the door opened and Elizabeth walked in.

"Neal, do you...?" Her voice faltered at the same time that Sara yelped in surprise and Neal shot upright, which, given his and Sara's complete nakedness, in hindsight wasn't a very good idea.

"Oh God!" Elizabeth was carrying the baby on her hip and she seemed torn between covering her own eyes or her sons. "Sorry, sorry! I'm just gonna..." She pointed vaguely away from them and fled the room, banging the door shut behind her.

Neal turned around to face Sara, and because there was nothing else they could do, they burst out laughing.

"I told you I should have gotten a new hotel room!" Sara lamented, burying her face in her hands.

"And I told you that as long as you can't go back home, I want you to share mine," Neal replied.

"Is this home?" Sara asked.

Neal pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Can you think of a better one?"

"I guess this does take me back to when my mother walked in on me and my first real boyfriend," Sara admitted, her cheeks still flaming red.

When she looked at Neal as if expecting him to agree, he could only give a little shake of his head. "I wouldn't know."

"Your mother never caught you making out?" Sara asked skeptically. "When you must have had girls lining up outside your bedroom window?"

"Okay, somehow that doesn't sound like a compliment," Neal said, frowning. "And my mother wasn't around much."

Sara's smile faded and she squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Neal."

"It's fine," he said, shaking off the memory. "Apparently, I can make up for it now."

"That's great, but leave me out of it next time. Because this is really embarrassing," Sara moaned.

"Actually, I think we should be grateful this wasn't Peter."

Looking mortified, Sara got up and started dressing.

"I know this isn't the _Four Seasons,_but it's also a lot less expensive," Neal said, watching her. "You were the one who pointed out that we're both out of a job right now."

Sara rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, but come on, it's not as if we don't have any money. Right?"

Neal cocked his head. "Are you asking me if I have a secret stash of stolen money?"

Pausing, the look on Sara's face sharpened. "Well, do you?"

"Do I have what? Secrets? Or money?"

"Both."

Neal took a moment to think about his answer. Eventually, he held out his hands to Sara. Her eyes were still narrowed, but she let him lace their fingers together. "I suppose I do. And if you want me to, I will tell you all about it. But I don't actually want any of it. The secrets. The money. All I want is a fresh start. With you."

A smile tugged at Sara's lips and Neal could feel her melt into him again. "Well, we could have used some of the money," she joked.

"I hear Sterling Bosch pays its top executives top dollar – or pound. Even without severance pay, there should be plenty of that left," Neal replied cheekily.

"Oh, so I'll be the one providing for us then?"

Neal grinned at her. "This is the 21st century."

"Shut up and get dressed!" Sara was laughing as she shoved him away. "I'm not going down there alone."

He did as he was told, and when they were both ready, they made their way down from the third floor into the Burke's open kitchen. The breakfast table was already set, but the baby was the only one sitting in his chair. Elizabeth was making eggs, and a platter with French toast was sitting on the counter.

"Can you take that?" she asked, nodding towards the French toast. "Eggs will be ready in a minute."

"Um, sure," Sara said, exchanging a quick glance with Neal. "And, uh, sorry about earlier."

Elizabeth looked up from the stove. Her smile was a little awkward but mostly genuine. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She chuckled. "I guess I'm not used to the house being this full. It's been just Peter and me for so long."

"We can totally get out of your hair," Sara offered quickly.

"Oh no, no, that's not what I'm saying." Elizabeth laid a hand on her arm. "Just... maybe lock the door next time."

"You could have knocked," Neal pointed out.

Elizabeth shot him a look that made him realize that maybe Sara was right. Maybe he didn't need to relive all those experiences he had missed out on as a kid. "This is still my house, Neal."

"Is this the 'as long as you live under my roof, you'll follow my rules' speech?" he asked, winking at her. "Because you can feel free to practice it on me until the little man is old enough."

"Oh God, I hope not," Elizabeth laughed.

They settled at the table, and Elizabeth brought the eggs and a bowl with whatever was on the menu for the baby this morning. Neal was watching his namesake taste the first spoonful of it when the backdoor opened and Mozzie waltzed in.

"Oh, good, you haven't started yet. I brought grapefruit," he announced and reached inside a plastic bag to place one on each of their plates. "It's important to watch your vitamin C intake."

"Um, thanks, Moz," Neal said haltingly, his eyes going back and forth between the French toast that smelled heavenly and the giant round fruit.

"You're welcome," Mozzie nodded and sat in one of the two remaining empty seats.

When Peter came back from walking Satchmo, he did a little double take upon seeing them all at his breakfast table.

He let Satchmo off his leash, and after having a drink in the kitchen, the Lab plopped down next to table, panting happily. Peter came to stand behind Elizabeth, rested his hands on her shoulders, and bent down to kiss the baby's cheek.

"Sara, I didn't know you were staying with us," he said when he straightened up again.

"Now that she's no longer working for Sterling Bosch, she had to check out of her hotel," Elizabeth explained to him.

"It's only temporary, though," Sara added.

"Uh-huh, I've heard that one before," Peter muttered with a knowing smirk and gave Elizabeth's shoulders a little squeeze, which she answered with a smile. When Peter sat down and found the grapefruit sitting on his plate, he frowned. "What's this?"

"That... is the way to a long and happy life," Mozzie told him.

"Thanks, but I already have everything I need for that," Peter said and reached across the table for Elizabeth's hand – which was an impressive move to soften her up and make sure she wouldn't make him eat the grapefruit.

It didn't have the same effect on Mozzie. "That's cute, but there's no scientific basis for love as a way to lower your cholesterol levels."

"But it does wonders for certain other levels in your body," Neal chimed in.

"I think we already had enough of that this morning," Elizabeth said, giving him a pointed look.

"Why? What happened this morning?" Peter asked sharply.

"Nothing," Sara, Neal, and Elizabeth said in unison, which only made Peter narrow his eyes at them in suspicion.

Thankfully, Mozzie distracted him. "I can cut it for you if you don't know how," he offered, still talking about the grapefruit.

"I don't need you to cut my breakfast for me, thank you very much," Peter said, shaking his head. "And when exactly did you move in here again?"

"Oh no, I'm just here to take Neal Junior to the zoo," Mozzie replied lightly.

Peter seemed torn between shooting Neal a dark look because of the Neal Junior thing and having a wordless conversation with his wife about why he wasn't informed about his son's activities. He settled on the latter, but Elizabeth was having none of it.

"I told you I have a meeting at the office today. I can't just let Yvonne deal with the fallout of what we did all on her own. And I'm not going to take Neal with me when he can have a great time with Uncle Mozzie instead." That last part she said directly to her son, tapping his nose. He laughed, not knowing what was being said, but happy to have his mother's love and attention.

"_Uncle Mozzie_?" Peter repeated dubiously.

Giving him time to mull over that moniker, Neal said to Elizabeth. "I didn't know you needed a babysitter. I could have watched him."

"You can come to the zoo with us. It's very educational," Mozzie said.

"No, you need to go and talk to June," Elizabeth cut him off.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Is this your way of kicking me out after all?"

"Of course not. But people are starting to talk about your miraculous return, and you need to tell her before she hears it from someone else," Elizabeth said softly.

Knowing she was right, Neal sighed. "I was just hoping to avoid another 'I'm sorry, but I'm not dead' conversation."

Sara laid a hand on his thigh, hidden underneath the table. "I can come with you. If I managed to forgive you, then June will, too."

Neal rested a hand on top of hers and smiled at her in thanks.

"Also, June kept all your stuff, so if I were you, I'd be extra nice to her," Mozzie advised him.

That caught Peter's attention. "You're not going to bring all that stuff over here, are you?"

"Actually, I do think a walk-in closet would be a nice addition to this house," Neal said, grinning.

"More clothes would mean less nakedness," Elizabeth added innocently.

"What?" Peter snapped. "Exactly who saw whom naked? And do I even want to know why?"

"It was an accident," Elizabeth told him. "But I don't think anyone at this table needs to worry about eating only grapefruit for breakfast."

Peter choked on his coffee, and Neal decided that this was the perfect time to get out of this conversation.

"You're right. I really should talk to June." He stood, took Sara's hand, and picked up a French toast with the other. "Thanks for breakfast, Elizabeth. Have fun at the zoo, little brother."

Sticking the toast between his teeth, he ruffled the baby's hair, and then they rushed out of there.

* * *

It was surreal to stand on the sidewalk and look up at June's house again. He'd thought that he had left all of this behind forever. He was glad for the second chance. He just wasn't sure what he needed to do to deserve it.

"Maybe I should go in first. Prepare her at least a little bit," Sara suggested.

Neal nodded and let go of her hand. He didn't know what she was going to say to June, but he trusted her. And so he waited for her sign that it was okay to come inside.

Walking up to the front door, Neal flashed back to the first time he had come here. How grateful he had been to June for seeing him as a person, not as an ex-con, and for trusting him, though, in all honesty, she'd had absolutely no reason to do so. And then, the look on Peter's face when he had seen the splendor his CI would be living in, waking up to the Manhattan skyline every day and drinking coffee a government employee couldn't even afford.

Yes, good times. Great times, even.

But the funny thing was, what lay ahead of him now looked even better.

As soon as Neal entered the hallway, it was Bugsy's high-pitched barking that welcomed him. The pug was beside himself with joy and almost stumbled over his little legs in his hurry to run up to Neal. It was very similar to the greeting he had gotten from Satchmo. But since the Lab was getting older now, it had been less of a frenzy and more of a wet and happy slobbering. Still, there was something to be said for a dog's forgiveness that was unconditional and instantaneous.

When Neal straightened up again after he had bent down to cuddle Bugsy and calm him down, he was met with the real challenge. June stood, in complete contrast to her dog, perfectly still and composed, and as always immaculately dressed. Her eyes, however, were vibrant.

"Neal." The way she said his name. It wasn't a question. It wasn't an accusation. It just was.

"June, I'm so sorry..." he began.

"Oh, come here," she cut him off and expectantly held out her arms for him to give her a hug.

"You're not mad?" Neal asked, surprised, when he stepped back again.

"Goodness gracious, no. I'm too old for such nonsense." June chuckled. "Now, we're going to sit down, open a nice bottle, and you can tell me exactly what happened."

It was a little early in the day for drinking, but they didn't dare defy June's wishes. And one glass couldn't hurt. So they sat down and Neal launched into his story once again. Hopefully, for the last time.

"Oh dear, I think my Byron would have loved this," said June and patted Neal's hand. "And I'm sure he couldn't have been prouder that you were wearing his suits. Speaking of which..."

She stood and motioned them to follow her upstairs. It was like the past year had never even happened. Nothing had been touched. Everything that Neal hadn't moved into storage was still there. And yes, that included almost the entire closet of Byron Ellington's and later Neal Caffrey's suits.

"I can't believe you really kept it all," Neal marveled. He suddenly felt very rich. In family, and friends, and really, really good-looking suits.

"I couldn't bring myself to give any of it away again," June admitted. "Not after first losing my husband and then losing you, too. Maybe it was my small part in keeping you alive."

Neal couldn't say anything. He just smiled at her.

Yes, he was very rich, indeed.

"So, do you need any help moving back in?" June asked cheerfully.

"Oh." Neal glanced at Sara.

"And by you I mean both of you, of course," June immediately picked up on that. "We can have the same agreement. You take care of Bugsy when I need you to and keep an old lady some company every now and then, and we're good."

"Actually, we don't know yet what we're going to do, but thank you, June. And no matter what happens, we'll definitely be back for more of that wine and your wonderful company," Neal promised her.

June looked from him to Sara and back. "Okay, I think I will let you two discuss this amongst yourselves," she said and smiled before she left them alone.

"You do know that we, meaning you, cannot leave until you're off the No Fly 'because I'm dead' List, right?" Sara asked.

"I know," Neal nodded.

"Then why don't you want to move back in here? I thought you loved this place."

"I do," he confirmed.

Sara waited for him to add something. When he didn't, she drew her own conclusions. "But... you want to stay with Peter and Elizabeth."

Neal didn't say anything, but he didn't need to either.

"Fine." Sara sighed. "As long as you don't expect me to have sex in that house ever again."

Neal chuckled. "I know it got a little crowded this morning, but you can't argue with the food, or the company." When Sara still didn't look entirely convinced, he stepped out onto the rooftop terrace. The view was every bit as awe-inspiring as he remembered. He really had missed this place.

Sara followed him outside. "You can't argue with this either," she said, marveling at the beauty of New York City.

"But all of this… it really is only temporary. For now. And moving back in here... it would feel like a do-over. Not a fresh start," Neal tried to explain.

And Sara seemed to understand. With a soft smile on her face, she walked over to him. "Then what is it you do want to do?"

Neal wrapped his arms around her waist, taking his time to answer. "I think… we should go look for your sister," he said eventually.

"What?" Sara snapped, her voice sharp. She stepped back out of his arms, and all the ease of this moment had fallen away, replaced by shock. And possibly anger.

"I know you've been looking, and there was nothing," Neal said quickly before she could lay into him. "And if you've made your peace with that, I'm sorry for bringing it up. But I don't think you have."

Sara's eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she made no move to stop him.

"People don't just disappear, Sara. I'm living proof that they don't," Neal continued cautiously, encouraged. "There's an answer out there, and if I have to decide right now what it is that I want, then I want to be the one to give it to you." He dared to reach for her hand. "As far as adventures go, I can't think of anything better."

He paused, searching her face. It was completely closed off to him, and she had her arms folded like armor, but underneath all that her chest was heaving. Neal figured she was either going to kiss him or punch him in the mouth.

So when she laid her hands on his face, he wasn't completely sure which option she had chosen until he felt her lips on his. Relieved, he pulled her closer and let the kiss run its course.

"For a second there, I wasn't sure what you were going to do," he said afterwards.

"For a second there, I wasn't sure either," Sara replied with a dark chuckle. But she sobered quickly and looked him straight in the eye. "You know this is crazy, right? It feels like we just got rid of some of your baggage and now you want to go and open mine?"

"Isn't that how relationships work?" Neal asked. "To share the load as much as the good stuff?"

"We were always better at the good stuff, though."

"This could be good, too."

"Or not." Sara shook her head. "It's been so many years."

Neal brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. "But isn't any kind of answer better than nothing at all?"

Slowly, a smile returned to Sara's lips. "I'm beginning to think there might be more than just one answer."

"There usually is."

"With you, anyway."

Neal grinned. "Part of my irresistible charm."

"Then you better put that to good use and figure this out," Sara said, and Neal opened his mouth to respond, but she wouldn't let him speak.

Leaning against the balustrade, with the wind in their hair, they stood in each other's arms. They weren't as far up as the Empire State Building, but it still felt like the world was at their feet. They weren't in a hurry, though.

Their future wasn't going anywhere. Which was the biggest marvel of all.

Knowing he had one. Knowing they did.

* * *

If being back at June's had felt unreal, stepping off the elevator on the 21st floor at Federal Plaza was like a throwback to a previous life. Some agents were already calling it a day and were just on their way home. But at White Collar, most desks were still manned, and so Neal got a wide range of reactions from disbelieving looks and shaking heads to pats on the back and spontaneous applause.

Peter had asked Neal to come in, and he had a pretty good idea as to why and that he wouldn't like it. Still, he was glad for the chance to come back here and see everyone. He also didn't fail to notice that his former desk was empty.

Resisting the urge to go over there and check if it really hadn't been touched, Neal headed upstairs into Peter's office.

"Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame?" Peter asked with a wry grin when he entered.

"I saved you an autograph," Neal replied as he plopped down into a chair.

"I'll be sure to hang that on my wall," Peter said drily. "Thanks for coming in, Neal."

"Of course. You call, I come running. That's how it worked, right?"

"You and I remember things very differently sometimes."

They shared a look and a laugh, but then Peter came right to it. "James and the lawyers are up in interrogation. He is asking to talk to you." The way Peter said it caused Neal to suspect that 'asking' wasn't exactly the right word for it.

"I figured he might."

Peter leaned forward in his chair. "You don't have to do this."

"But if I don't, he might start talking about the wrong things," Neal reminded them both.

"You can't let him hold that over your head forever."

Neal let his eyes wander around the office that hadn't changed one bit. With one exception. There was a new picture on Peter's desk, and Neal didn't need the reflection in the window to know that it was a photo of little Neal looking wide-eyed into the camera.

"Small price to pay," he said.

Peter nodded, and together they went upstairs past Jones and Diana and the marshals. But Peter wouldn't go inside the interrogation room with him where James was waiting, and James asked his lawyer to leave. So once again, they were alone. Or as alone as one could be in an FBI interrogation room with glass walls.

Neal noticed, however, that the light of the camera in the corner and the microphone went out. Strangely, that made him feel better, because Peter was the only one who could have given that order. Since James had sent away his lawyer, he had no right to privacy. But Peter was giving it to them anyway.

It reminded Neal what was waiting for him outside of this room.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently after sitting down.

"Is it so wrong for a father to want to see his son?" James asked in return.

Neal wasn't interested in engaging. "Is that it? Do you want to blackmail me into coming to visit you?"

Again, James didn't really answer. "Maybe I would just like for you to acknowledge that I am the one you owe this life to."

Neal snorted. "I think biology deserves more credit for that one than you do."

"That's not what I meant. I mean you being back here. It's only because the Panthers are no longer around, isn't it?" James pointed out, and it was wrong, so very wrong, but he was right.

Neal clenched his jaw. "Why did you do it? Why did you kill Woodford? Whatever else you've done, you've never been a killer. Not like that."

"I didn't plan on killing him. I just needed answers."

He could have meant answers about what had happened with Neal, but he knew that wasn't it. Not really. "You wanted him to tell you where he had stashed all the money from their previous heists," Neal realized.

At least, James didn't try to deny it. "Being a fugitive is hard without the necessary funds. You of all people should know that. And I thought he owed me, owed us, for getting you killed."

"But he didn't tell you."

"No. He figured out who I was and that the FBI was looking for me, and then I didn't have a choice."

Neal swallowed all of the feelings that were trying to rise to the surface in response to that. "So it's money then. Is that what you want? Because you can have it."

"Are you offering to pay me for my silence, Neal?" James asked. "I don't think Peter would approve."

"No, he wouldn't. But it's like you said. I do know what it's like to be on the other side."

"Careful, Neal. You don't want to end up on my side of the table," James warned.

"Is that a threat?"

"I wouldn't throw my own son into jail."

Neal laughed humorlessly. "Oh, you're okay with shooting me, but that's where you draw the line?"

"I would have never pulled the trigger, Neal," James insisted.

"Excuse me if I choose not to believe you."

James looked like he wanted to move towards him but knew he couldn't if he didn't want the marshals to come running in. "What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"Nothing. I want nothing from you," Neal said flatly. "I thought I had to know you to know myself. But I finally realized that your choices don't have to be my choices."

"And what is your choice, Neal?"

He looked into James' face where he had once searched for answers, and suddenly it was the easiest thing to get up and walk away. "To be better," he said and left the room.

The lawyers and the marshals looked at him as if they expected him to say something. But he didn't. What would happen next wasn't up to him. So Peter asked him to wait in his office. Neal wasn't sure why he wanted him to stick around, but he agreed.

And then he tried not to go crazy as he waited.

It felt like forever until Peter joined him in his office again. "James is pleading guilty. He'll take a deal and be back in prison by tonight."

Which meant no trial. No chance that any of this would come back to haunt them. It was over.

Neal sank into his chair. "Good."

"I'm sorry it had to end this way," Peter said as he rounded his desk.

"It's not your fault, Peter. And from where I'm sitting, it turned out a lot better than I ever thought it would," Neal replied. As he had waited for Peter to return, he had worried that he might have antagonized James too much. But maybe, for the first time in his life, he had chosen to be better, too.

"So, are you giving me a ride home?" Neal asked, winking at Peter.

But Peter still looked oddly serious. "Actually, there is something else," he said. He took a folder out of his desk and stood to hand it to him.

With a curious frown, Neal opened it and found lots of paperwork inside. Paperwork with his name on it. "Peter. What is this?"

"The resurrection of Neal Caffrey," Peter said, and now he smiled. "Welcome back to the living."

Neal stared at his brand-new passport. A real one, this time. "How did you…?"

"I called in a couple of favors. I owe a lot of people a lot of thank you dinners. Not sure how I'm going to tell El about that."

"Peter, you didn't have to do this," Neal said quietly.

"I know. But I wanted to," Peter replied with a shrug, though his words were anything but casual. "So, this is it. You're officially a free man."

Neal couldn't help himself. He looked up at Peter to make sure this wasn't a trick. Freedom – the kind that was given, not stolen – had eluded him for too long. Maybe even for all of his life. There was a grin on Peter's face, a grin that had a little bit of disbelief mixed in but not falsehood. It was real, and it was kind, and it was everything.

Dropping the folder on the desk, Neal stood to face Peter, and the only answer he could think of was to pull him into his arms for a hug. "Thank you, Peter. For everything."

"Wasn't me. This was you, Neal."

He decided not to argue, but he silently gave thanks that of all the cities in the world where he could have committed bond forgery, he had chosen the one that was in the jurisdiction of one Peter Burke.

"Aw, isn't this adorable?" he heard a familiar teasing voice from the open doorway.

"Yes, I think I may need a tissue."

Peter and Neal stepped back and turned to face Jones and Diana. "I think we're the ones who will need those tissues because you're leaving us," Peter said to the latter.

"You're going back to D.C.?" Neal hadn't been aware that she had made her decision, but, of course, Peter would be the first to know.

"You know I love it here, but this opportunity is just too good to pass up," Diana replied. "And it will be great for Theo."

"Couldn't say no to his grandparents offering free day care, huh?" Peter teased.

"Oh, you have no idea how hard it is to find a good babysitter."

"Actually, I do. Ours tend to move in with us."

Jones seemed eager to change the topic to something other than babies. "Well, looks like we'll be one man…"

"… woman…" Diana corrected.

"… down," Jones finished. "Or maybe not?" he asked, looking at Neal.

Neal grinned. "It's been boring around here without me, hasn't it?"

"That's one word for it," Peter said. "Stress-free would be another one."

"Less annoying," Diana added.

"And less insane," Jones nodded.

Neal grimaced. "Okay, I love you, too, guys."

"Come on," Diana laughed. "Let's get out of here. Drinks are on me."

"That's what I like to hear," Jones agreed enthusiastically, but Peter hesitated and glanced at this watch.

"Don't worry. I got permission from Elizabeth," Diana told him.

Peter made a face. "I wasn't going to ask for permission. I was just going to call and tell her."

"Whatever you say, boss. But she already knows. So get moving." Diana ushered all of them out of the office.

On their way down the stairs, Neal sidled up to Peter. "You were so going to ask Elizabeth for permission."

Peter met his gaze and smiled knowingly. "Mock me all you want, but you will find yourself in the same position sooner than you might think."

Neal never got the chance to respond until later when they were sitting in a bar and Jones challenged Diana to a game of pool, leaving Neal and Peter alone at their table. That's when Neal told him about their plans to look for Sara's sister.

"That's a bold move," Peter said, sipping his beer.

"It's not really a 'move,'" Neal replied, frowning.

"Maybe not. But you only just got back together, and her sister is obviously of great importance to Sara. If you don't find her, this could be make or break for you."

Neal understood what Peter was saying and the thought had crossed his mind, but playing it safe was not what he had asked Sara to say yes to. It wasn't what they had fallen in love with. "We've always been like that, though." He shrugged. "We can't all be Peter and Elizabeth."

Peter grinned. "No, but if you do need a best man… or a wedding planner, for that matter. El has a couple of ideas."

"I'm sure she does," Neal said, grimacing. "Your hints are becoming less subtle every time, you do know that."

"You were the one who proposed to her in front of everyone at the warehouse," Peter pointed out.

Neal sighed. "That wasn't a proposal."

"What was it then?" Peter asked dubiously. "Because I only got down on one knee once in my life. Well, twice. But only for one woman."

"I know. I was there the second time. But in our case, it was just… the end of a conversation we've been having."

Peter snorted. "You must be quite the conversationalist."

Neal shot him a look. "How long have you known me?"

"Long enough to know that you're holding back."

"Well, you have to admit that you and Elizabeth set an impossibly high standard. And last time I checked, it was considered a good idea to take some time to think about life-altering decisions. Maybe that's what I'm doing."

"Could have fooled me," Peter teased him.

"Never too late to start," Neal replied.

"Okay, that's fair," Peter agreed. "If you need to think about whether you love her enough to spend the rest of your life with her, by all means. But if you're wondering whether you're good enough, then you're wasting your time."

"Wow. You really want that best man job, don't you?" Neal said, but he couldn't help the smile on his face.

"That and… I want you to be happy, Neal," Peter said, and he wasn't joking this time. "I can't tell you what that real life you were searching for should look like. But I can tell you that when you're lucky enough to meet your favorite person, you should take it." It was good advice, and the look on Peter's face when he thought of Elizabeth made it all the more believable.

His smile widening, Neal leaned forward. "Wait, so... I'm not your favorite person?"

Peter gave a little laugh. "You mean, instead of the woman I have been in love with for seventeen years, three months, and eleven days?"

"Wow, you just had that number ready, huh?"

"Contrary to what you might believe, you and Mozzie are not the only geniuses around here."

"Okay, I get it. Can't compete with Elizabeth," Neal conceded. "But am I top three at least?"

"I can give you top five, maybe." Peter smirked.

Neal raised his glass. "Now that sounds real enough to me."

They clinked glasses. After taking another sip of his beer, Peter asked, "But you're coming back, right?"

"I said goodbye to New York twice now. It never stuck. So I don't think this one will either," Neal replied. "We'll just have to see where Sara's sister takes us."

"For what it's worth, I do hope you find her," Peter said.

"So do I. Who knows? Maybe it's our true calling. Maybe… we'll open a PI firm once we're back."

Peter guffawed, causing Neal to raise an eyebrow. "Not in the way you're thinking," he said.

"No?" Peter asked. "I'm thinking the two of you would keep breaking and entering to obtain information illegally, except you would call it government-sanctioned because you'd be paying taxes for once."

"Okay. Maybe it is what you're thinking." Neal grinned. "But there are other people out there who deserve closure, just like Sara. I could think of worse things than giving it to them." He paused. "And if the New York White Collar unit happened to be in over their heads, we'd be willing to help them, too. For a small fee, of course."

"Naturally," Peter snorted. "The FBI doesn't hire PIs. But we do hire special agents."

"I think we both know I would be kicked out of Quantico within a week," Neal said.

Peter didn't seem inclined to disagree. "Consultants then."

"Thanks, Peter, but I need to do this. For now." Neal looked over at the pool table where Jones was getting his ass kicked by Diana. "Maybe don't throw out my badge just yet, though."

Peter laughed. "Sounds like a deal."

Jones and Diana had finished their game and returned to their table. "I need to get back to Theo before I lose another babysitter," Diana said. "But Jones here is looking for someone else to show him what a terrible pool player he is."

"Another time, Jones. It's getting late. I should go home, too," Peter said, standing up. "Actually, _we_ should go home," he corrected, looking at Neal.

"Come on, Caffrey," Jones said before Neal could respond. "If you win, you no longer owe me."

Neal had half-risen from his chair but now he sank bank down. "You go ahead," he told Peter. "I'll be in later."

"Okay, but don't stay out too late," Peter replied.

"Why? Will you try to ground me again?" Neal smirked.

"Better not push it, Neal."

"And you better not cheat either," Jones added.

"I hate to break it to you, Jones, but he could probably beat you with one hand tied behind his back," Peter said, patted his agent on the shoulder, and laughed as he left with Diana.

When Jones turned to look at Neal, he emptied his glass and flashed him a smile.

"Shall we?"

* * *

When Peter got home, he had expected everyone to be in bed already. But the lights were still on in the living room, the radio was softly playing in the background, and he found El sitting on the floor, bouncing the baby in her lap. Satchmo was lying on the couch, his head resting on his paws, his eyes on El and Neal but only half-open as if he, too, was wondering why it wasn't bed time yet.

"Hey, hon," Peter said as he slipped out of his jacket and threw it over the back of the couch. "What's going on?" Ever since they had come home from Paris, they had returned to a fairly rigorous schedule when it came to putting down the baby. And so Peter immediately worried that something might be wrong.

But Elizabeth greeted him with a smile, though there was a hint of exhaustion in it that Peter knew only too well. "I don't know. He just wouldn't go to bed without a goodnight kiss from Daddy."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Not in so many words."

Peter grinned, and he was about to walk over to them, happy to oblige, but El raised a hand. "No, hon, stay over there."

Confused, Peter stopped, but he quickly understood. El had set the baby down and now that he had spotted Peter, he was beginning to crawl or creep or scoot towards him. It was hard to describe his movements exactly. But his eyes were as round and bright as twin moons and peals of laughter were coming off his lips – he was clearly delighted to have figured out how this worked.

It made Peter's heart burst with joy and pride as he knelt to wait for his son to reach him. "See, I told you all that tummy time would pay off," he said to El.

She had both hands pressed to her mouth as she watched, but when she lowered them now, they revealed a smile. "I never said it wouldn't. I just didn't want you to push him too hard. He's already growing up so fast."

"He's only seven months old. I'm pretty sure we have at least seventeen years and a couple of months left," Peter replied. "Judging by how many people are moving back into this house at the moment, probably more than that."

Elizabeth laughed, but her eyes still glistened with the telltale signs of unshed tears. So Peter added, "And we will enjoy each and every wonderful minute of it."

Her smile softened. "Well, this very wonderful minute you should stop our son from disappearing under the coffee table."

Peter had gotten completely lost in looking at her, but El's words snapped him out of it, and he saw that Neal had indeed deviated from his course. It caught Peter by surprise. He wasn't used to having to watch out for that. So far, rolling back and forth, sitting up, or standing on his feet when being held up by someone had been the limits of his son's movements.

Quickly, Peter snatched him up. "This is going to be a whole new ballgame from now on, isn't it?" he marveled.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"Are we ready for that?" Peter wondered, walking over to her.

"Are you?"

"I don't know," he admitted, looking from his wife to his son in his arms. "But I'm glad I'll be there to find out." Peter had never actually believed that James would hurt his son or send him to prison again. Or rather, he had never let himself believe that. But now that the threat was truly gone, he realized what it meant. His son's first word. His first step. He would get to see it all.

"Everything worked out with James then?" El read his thoughts with remarkable ease.

"By now, he's already back in jail."

"No trial?"

"No, he took a deal," Peter told her and El exhaled. "I also gave Neal his new passport."

That one El hadn't expected. "What did he say?"

"He looked about as surprised as you do. I would have told you about it earlier, but I didn't know I'd get it today. And when I did, I just wanted him to have it. Felt like it was time," he tried to explain that moment in his office between him and Neal.

The smile on El's face told him that she knew better what he was feeling than he could have ever found the words to express. "Of course, you did, hon."

"So, I guess, whether we're ready or not, things are going to change," Peter realized.

"Well, how about we start by getting our little explorer to bed?" El said, smiling up at him.

Peter agreed and they carried their son upstairs. They put him in his crib, kissed him on both cheeks, and told him how much they loved him. And then they stood there and watched as little Neal lay on his back, happily laughing up at them, perfectly uninterested in going to sleep.

"I blame Mozzie," Peter said, looking from his wide-awake son to El.

She chuckled. "He's really great with him, though."

"Then maybe he should put him to bed," Peter suggested.

"I could call him."

"We'd never live that down."

"Probably not."

El rested her head on Peter's shoulder and they laughed. "I feel like I could just stand here and watch him forever," Peter said, wrapping an arm around her.

"If only he would let us." El sighed wistfully. "Forever is a long time to stop him from leaving this house."

"He can leave. As long as he comes back," Peter said. "Seems to work with the other Neal."

"I know it did, and I'm so glad we got him back. But, hon, we can never – ever – lose either one of them again." El tore her eyes away from their son to look at him. "Or each other."

Peter nodded as he cupped her cheek. "I told you before. That's impossible."

El smiled and they allowed that certainty to settle between them while Neal kept babbling merrily.

"What do you think he's telling us?" Peter wondered.

"He's probably telling you about all the animals he saw at the zoo today."

"Why just me?"

"Because he already told me earlier," El said. "You should wait for the story about the giraffes."

And so they waited until Neal eventually seemed to tire of entertaining them. Peter gave the mobile Mozzie and Neal had made for him another spin as El hummed one last lullaby, and finally their son's eyes fluttered shut.

Barely daring to breathe too loud, Peter and Elizabeth tiptoed out of the room.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" El asked as they quietly made their way back down to the living room.

"I did. I'm really going to miss her, though," Peter said. Going to the office without hearing Diana say 'Morning, boss' would take some getting used to.

"I know, hon." El ran a hand up and down his arm and he felt a little better. "Where's Neal?"

"He stayed at the bar with Jones when Diana and I left," he replied. "Where's Sara?"

"She went to bed early. She wanted to help me with the baby, but I think all the anxiety and excitement about her sister knocked her out cold."

Peter wasn't surprised that El already knew about that. But for now, something else caught his attention. "So, we're the only ones who are still up?"

When El nodded her head, Peter grinned. The radio was still playing and he held out his hand to her. "Then may I have this dance?"

Surprised by his whimsy, El laughed, but she didn't hesitate. "This one, and all the rest of them, too," she said as she laid her hand in his.

Smiling, Peter gathered her to him, and at first, he did lead them in an actual dance across the living room floor. Satchmo sat up on the couch and cocked his head, completely confused by what was going on in this house lately. But he wagged his tail in approval as he watched El twirl in and out of Peter's arms. When Peter alerted her to the fact that they had an audience, El's eyes sparkled with laughter, and Peter simply had to pull her back into him, choosing to just hold her close as they slowed and swayed to the music.

As the singer on the radio took the words right out of his mouth when he told the woman in his life that she looked wonderful tonight, Peter brought his lips to El's brow. "I love you, honey."

"I love you, too, hon," El breathed. And when she lifted her stunningly blue eyes to meet his, as always, Peter found his answer.

He was ready.

And forever would never be enough.

* * *

As he stood on the sidewalk and watched Peter and Elizabeth dance, Neal smiled to himself. He could give them another minute or two before going into the house.

"You know, people could report you to the police for stalking," Mozzie said as he came to stand next to him.

"I actually live here now, so the real question is what you're doing here," Neal replied.

"Oh, the other Neal forgot his teddy bear today." Mozzie held up the stuffed bear he had named Mozart, which was a surprisingly sound explanation.

"I can give it to him," Neal offered.

But Mozzie quickly hid the stuffed animal behind his back. "No, thank you."

"You don't trust me with a teddy bear?" Neal asked, his eyebrows raised.

"It's a very special bear," Mozzie said in a very serious tone that made Neal smile.

"A special bear for a special kid?"

"Exactly."

"Should I be worried that you're replacing me?" Neal asked.

"Should I be worried that you're leaving town without me?" Mozzie countered.

Neal sighed. He should have known that this kind of news traveled faster than he did. "You can come with us. We could really use your help." It wasn't just something he said to make up for leaving. What he and Sara would try to do was a long shot. Having Mozzie with them would greatly improve their chances of success.

But Mozzie shook his head. "I think I'll stick around here for now."

"Don't tell me you'll be a full-time babysitter," Neal teased him.

Unfazed, Mozzie shrugged his shoulders. "As you know, I'm a man of multiple professions. And for the record, this is by far the most challenging one."

Neal laughed. "Yeah. I believe you, Moz."

"But you know where to find me if you need me," Mozzie added, and Neal knew he wasn't just saying that either.

"Do you remember when I told you that if you want a happy ending, it depends on where you stop the story?"

"I do," Mozzie nodded. "Are you saying this is where it ends?"

Neal turned from him back to the Burkes' house, and looking into the eyes of the people he loved, he knew he had finally found who he was or, at the very least, who he wanted to be.

"No. I think this is where it begins."


End file.
